Unicorn's Leap
by Scarlet Garter
Summary: Cain travels to Unicorn's Leap to capture land pirates threatening unicorns Lady Agatha breeds.  But Lady Agatha isn't who she seems, and Wyatt harbors a secret he can't reveal.  Not Cain/DG and many "other" characters
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Tin Man.

Author's note: Most of us consider Cain and DG the perfect couple. A few of us, however, have explored the possibility of an attraction between Cain and a reformed Azkedellia. This tale undertakes that exploration with one small complication: Cain doesn't know the lovely Lady Agatha is really Azkedellia in disguise.

This is not an AU setting, but does borrow from McGuire's "Wicked". Readers will also encounter several "other" characters, including the butler-bot Smythe, the Munchkin Hom, and the magical unicorn Hamlet.

The word "demesne" is pronounced sort of like "domain" and means about the same thing.

The rating is M for good reason but I hope readers will enjoy the less steamy chapters as well. Reviews are, of course, looked forward do, good or bad.

CHAPTER ONE

Chief of Palace Security Wyatt Cain all but sprinted from the Royal Stables.

Watching him, Azkedellia saw the harried look of a man with woman trouble. Severe woman trouble. And she knew why. Behind him, leaning against the carriage barn door, Deegee looked as besotted as anyone of royal blood could possibly look. It made 'Dellia want to smack her.

It's really not my place to interfere, she reminded herself. Better to let someone older and wiser diffuse the situation.

On the other hand, the Royal Parents had their own issues to deal with and might well dismiss her concerns as inconsequential. Tell her to mind her own business. That wouldn't do at all. Like it or not, this was her business. She had reasons for preventing anything…awkward from developing.

Her casual stroll put her on a collision course with Cain's flight path. "Join me in the Crystal Grotto in fifteen minutes," she said. "There is a matter of importance to discuss."

His gaze met hers with the wide-eyed stare of a spooked stallion. He hadn't even noticed her approach, would likely have barreled right into her had she not spoken, Azkedellia hid a smile. She wondered what Deegee had suggested this time. She'd never seen the unflappable Tin Man so rattled.

"Of course, Your Grace."

He stepped aside. She could almost see the firm mental shake he gave himself. He does recover with extraordinary aplomb, she mused and continued on without a backward glance.

Cain stood still, watching the former Sorceress float wraithlike down the path to the grotto. 'Join me' meant take another route. Don't be seen. He had received similar directives before when small matters arose requiring…discretion.

The grotto was the one place they could speak without concern Deegee might overhear. The colorless leaves from which the grotto took its name tinkled like a thousand shivering windbells. Deegee claimed the sound gave her a headache. She seldom went near the place.

Good thing crystaleaves don't break, Cain thought as he entered the small concavity some ten minutes later. He could move like a shadow in back alleys or through a busy market square. Put him in a room with fragile trinkets or a hollow filled with crystaleaf trees, he developed two left feet and ten thumbs.

Azkedellia waited, her back half turned as if she didn't hear the tell-tale leaves trumpeting his arrival. If Deegee was cute and sexy in a kittenish sort of way, her sister was a female panther. Cain stood for a moment, watching her. She looked like a living statue with her milk-white skin, her hair as black as the ebony marble bench upon which she sat. She'd discarded the somber garments she wore during her hag-ridden years, choosing rich coral hues that glowed like a jewel in the midmorning suns, and abandoned the odd topknot hair style. Her hair fell soft and free around her shoulders, enticing as a Siren's song. Cain very deliberately placed his hands in his pockets. She was not his to touch.

She sipped from a silver goblet. Its twin stood on a matching tray. Good, he thought. Refreshments-even that nasty sweet cider she always drank-meant their meeting was off the record. He knew what it concerned.

Removing his hat, he made a stiff bow. "Azkedellia."

She turned to face him and proffered the second goblet. "Thank you for coming so promptly. Wine?"

He would have preferred a good belt of whisky, but accepted the goblet, grateful it wasn't cider.

"My sister is in love with you," she said without further preamble.

It didn't sound good, spoken so bluntly. It wasn't good. In the three months following the fall of the Witch, Deegee's crush, flattering as it once seemed, had gotten out of hand. Something had to be done before…well, before. Embarrassing as it was, better to discuss the matter with Azkedellia than Queen Lavender. Or worse, the princesses' father.

He sighed. "I know."

"And?"

Her gaze pierced him to his soul. They had discussed this before, in hypothetical terms that drew scant veil over the actuality. Now she meant to have the truth-about this matter, in any event-will he or nil he. The image of fiery tongs came to mind.

"I…love her too, but not like that. Not the way she wants. She's the gutsiest kid I've ever met. But she _is_ a kid. Half my age."

Azkedellia looked at him.

"All right, a third. But eight of those years I spent in a stasis chamber."

She winced. "And you still mourn Adora."

I'll always mourn Adora. But she's gone and…."

"And would want you to get on with your life."

"Yeah."

Still watching him, watching so intently he felt an almost physical touch, Azkedellia sipped from her goblet. Cain did, too, wishing more than ever his was filled with rye.

"Do you believe you might change your mind one day? When Deegee is older, more mature?"

Mind-maybe. Heart? "No."

"You sound very certain."

"About this I am." Not about much else. Even if he were, he had no right to speak.

"Pity. You would make a fine match."

Her words were little more than a sigh. Cain couldn't decide if he'd heard them correctly. Wasn't sure what she meant if he did. Wasn't going to ask.

"Please sit, Mr. Cain. There is a related matter about which we must speak."

Telling himself it was because he felt awkward seated in the presence of royalty, he perched as far from her as he could on the marble bench.

"This is something I find most distressing to discuss, but the future of the OZ rests upon the outcome. I have no doubt I can count upon your discretion. Nevertheless, I must ask your most sacred vow to never mention to anyone what I am about to reveal, nor call it to my attention once we are done."

If he closed his eyes, he could swear Queen Lavender herself was speaking, so like her mother Azkedellia sounded. He raised his right hand.

"I swear on Adora's grave."

"That will serve." She took a rather lengthy drought of the sweet cider, then refilled the goblet. "During my…servitude as Sorceress, the witch found a multitude of amusements she could enjoy, using my body as her own. I became an accomplished harpsichordist. I mastered chess. And I spent hours on end in the arms of men whose various…charms caught the Witch's fancy.

"Until I became pregnant."

Cain felt like someone had slugged him in the gut. "Your Grace, I-"

"Pray do not interrupt." Her expression was lethal. "The witch terminated that small inconvenience as soon as she realized what was causing my malaise. She then…took steps…to prevent it happening again. Ever."

Cain took a deep breath and let it trickle from his lungs. If Azkedellia could not produce an heir, she would not be allowed to rule despite her primogeniture. A close relative would assume the throne. Azkedellia's closest relative was Deegee. Who adamantly insisted the "job" was Azkedellia's whenever the question of succession arose. Who made every effort to duck the instruction she would need to wear the mantle with probity.

When some time had passed and Azkedellia said nothing more, Cain asked, "Why are you telling me?"

"Don't act the fool. You would be my sister's choice of Consort. If you cannot accept this role, if you cannot love her, then you must make it abundantly clear to her now, before-" She leaped to her feet, fixing him with a glare so like that of the Sorceress, Cain felt his blood chill. "Before something happens that ties you to her permanently."

_Before I lose my common sense and take her to bed._

It wouldn't happen, but not for any reasons Azkedellia might assume. Not because he was too noble to bed a woman without benefit of bonding rites. Not because he was too old nor because he was a commoner and she royalty. Not even because he did not love her in the way a man must love the woman who became his lifemate.

It would not happen because Cain had a secret or two of his own. Belatedly he rose to his feet.

"You've seen a Healer?" he asked.

"What has been burned away not even a Healer can repair."

_Burned away. Too bad the same can't be done for me._

"Only Mother and Father know the truth," Azkedellia said. "And now you. Deegee does not. She would of course assume the throne were the matter revealed to her. If she is to rule wisely and with strength of purpose, it must be because she develops a sense of duty, not from guilt. And if you are not to be her consort, she must find an acceptable substitute."

Azkedellia placed her goblet on the tray. "Mr. Cain, you must make it clear to Deegee that there is no future for the two of you. So she can get on with _her _life and responsibilities."

A breeze stirred her hair. She pushed a loosened tendril behind one ear. Cain followed the movement with his eyes. He nodded, unable to speak.

"Given that," she continued in a tone far less grim, "I have a proposition for you." She reseated herself and half-turned to face him. "Our Aunt Agatha is doyenne of a demesne called Unicorn's Leap. You're familiar with it?"

"I am."

Who wasn't? The beautiful-and according to legend, sometimes magical-unicorns bred at Unicorn Leap were the pride of all the OZ. The demesne had produced some of the finest Airs Above performers in the realm, and more than a few record-setting two-milers. It was at Unicorn's Leap where Jeb finally found a Breeder willing to part with any brood stock. He wondered if Jeb knew about the connection with the royal family.

"Aunt Agatha," Azkedellia continued, "has encountered some difficulties recently with a band of land pirates. They hide in her mountains, and the local security force has failed miserably to locate them. She has asked Father to send someone to investigate. Ambrose wants to go-"

"Ambrose! He's not trained for a job like that. They'd eat him alive. A pair of cub bunniebears would make a meal of him, never mind land pirates."

Azkedellia smiled faintly, her gaze shifting for a moment to the place where Cain's retired badge once rode. He still felt naked without the silver star on his chest. He felt her gaze to his skin.

"Their raids are more nuisance than dangerous. The crofters and villagers have little difficulty driving them off. The difficulty is that since the pirates invaded the unicorns' territory, their birth-rate has fallen drastically. The pirates must be apprehended and removed. With foaling season eminent, there is no time to lose. As you may know, 'corns are already at risk as a species."

He knew. The Witch had ordered them exterminated. Many were smuggled out of the OZ, but the creatures did not thrive so far from their homeland, and refused to breed. The remaining 'corns were priceless, their reproduction carefully overseen by Breeders who'd passed an exhaustive licensing requirement. Jeb had received his certificate only a few weeks ago.

Cain felt sick at heart over the unicorns' plight. Even mundane 'corns were magical in their beauty. White as sun-splashed snow with long, banner-like tails and flowing manes, modern racing 'corns ran two miles in under three minutes on a flat track. They pulled the finest ceremonial carriages. Highly trained "Great Whites" performed an intricate ballet called "Airs Above", a carry-over from the days when 'corns were bred as war-steeds complete with their own weaponry: teeth that could crush bone, a kick that could flatten the unwary foe, and a wicked ivory lance.

Knowing how much young Jeb yearned for his very own unicorn, Cain had been putting a few coins aside from every remittance packet he earned to surprise the boy with one on his next birthday. But then-

"Mother and I agree," Azkedellia continued, jolting Cain back to the present, "it would not make a good mission for Ambrose. For all his good intentions, he would be…less than effective roaming the hinterlands like a wild Munchkin. As matters stand I think it would be in everyone's best interest to send you."

She stood, signaling the end of their interview. "I will arrange your leave. You will depart tomorrow. Before you go, you will tell Deegee what you must."

Azkedellia watched Cain trudge across the courtyard. For some time now, she'd sensed he was keeping some dark and troubling secret.

It took no Seer to determine something was amiss. She, too, could sometimes sense thoughts strongly enough projected. It was a spotty talent, and not a welcome one. She had known from the day Deegee was born her tiny squalling sister was the light of their mother's life. Her angel. While she herself….

She herself had been in their mother's womb several weeks before Queen Lavender accepted their father's bond. Their mother never treated her cruelly, but also had never quite forgotten it was Azkedellia's unplanned existence that forced her into marriage with a commoner. Ahamo had been thrilled. Queen Lavender wasn't.

By the time Deegee arrived, their mother had accepted her destiny. She did love Ahamo, after all, and he had proved a steadfast and clever Consort. Deegee was the proof of their enduring bond as Azkedellia would never be. 'Dellia believed her mother honestly did not recognize the resentment she bore her first daughter, but that made it no less painful to a little girl longing only to be wanted. And had given the Witch the leverage she needed to spring her trap.

So, if not Deegee's deplorable crush, what was worrying Cain? He looked defeated. Far more so than present circumstances warranted, assuming he had spoken truthfully. It seemed, so far as Deegee was concerned, that he had. Ambrose knew nothing. Questioned, Raw had uttered just enough gibberish to convince her he knew more than he was telling. Once she could have compelled him to speak-and would have. Now she must find another way.

Following Cain to Unicorn Leap was the last thing a royal daughter ought to do. She certainly couldn't let him find her there. But Raw's reticence convinced her she must act, and Aggie was just the person to help.

Siren blood, while much diluted since a long-ago Quadling prince spoke bonding vows with a golden-voiced river nymph-as ransom for her not drowning him-might deny Lady Agatha Radcliff many privileges accorded others of her rank, but it had endowed her with attributes for which some would have forsworn all benefits of nobility.

She didn't age, or at least hadn't since reaching maturity. Two years Azkedellia's elder, she looked closer to Deegee's age, and would likely continue to do so until past fifty. More important at the moment was an ability to read, more accurately than could Azkedellia, the inner workings of an individual's mind. Not with a Seer's clarity, but she could sense another's malaise or well-being, much as one's skin sensed the warming rays of the sun, or the chill when cloudbanks darkened the sky.

The golden voice had been lost to Aggie, who claimed her singing more closely resembled the croaking of frogs, but her remaining gifts might offer some clue to what was troubling Cain.

If it were within her power to quietly solve his problem, she would do so. It was the least she could do for the man she had come to respect and…greatly admire.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Cain wrestled a folded shirt from Ambrose's grasp and crammed it inside a blue canvas carry-all.

He didn't need help packing. He didn't want company. His final conversation with Deegee had left him more shaken than he anticipated. If she'd thrown a temper tantrum, thrown objects, called him every vile name in the book, he would have known what to do. Instead, she'd stood very still, tears forming and trickling down her cheeks, saying nothing.

Cain had lived through his own crush or two. He understood how badly rejection hurt, even when in one's own best interest. Maybe especially then. He was as gentle with her as he knew how to be, but she didn't want gentle, she wanted him. If circumstances were just a tiny bit different, he might have given her what she wanted. Let her get it-and him-out of her system. But things were what they were. Cain, feeling like the OZ's biggest heel, had slunk to his rooms to pack.

Bringing keys for the ground car Cain had requisitioned, Ambrose had intercepted his retreat and tagged along. Curt replies and monosyllabic answers in no way dampened Ambrose's manic curiosity. Cain couldn't toss him out the window, his suite was three flights up. Next best was to keep him talking-about anything.

"What can you tall me about Aunt Agatha?"

"Well, she isn't everyone's aunt, you know." Ambrose withdrew another shirt from Cain's armoire, "tsk"-ed and began re-folding it.

"Deegee and 'Dellia call her 'aunt' because I always have. She's my father's half-sister, by _his_ father's beta-wife." A half-sister of sufficient nobility to admit her to the Royal Family's inner circle, but whose Siren blood, Ambrose confided, made invalid any possible claim to the throne.

"Not that she cares. In fact, she rarely puts in an appearance at court. She says she's not cut out for politics or cotillions. She almost never leaves the stronghold unless it's to visit another Breeder or attend a gymkhana. She's utterly devoted to her unicorns."

Ambrose paused in his folding and gazed at Cain, lips pursed. "I don't need to remind you, even a small amount of Siren blood can be very…compelling. Particularly if the carrier doesn't have a lifemate or at least a favorite lover. They don't even have to Call to attract a male. It just happens."

Cain waived a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. Don't listen to them sing, don't let their tears touch your skin. I remember the warning lectures we got in boot camp."

Besides, she'd be fat, middle-aged and seriously wrinkled. A gray-haired, roly-poly version of Ambrose. Funny Jeb hadn't mentioned the old gal.

Ambrose opened a dresser drawer and began doling out underwear. "When she was younger, she rode her own racers. She still plays a mean game of unicorn polo."

In Cain's mind, chubby Aunt Agatha immediately morphed from rotund matron to rail-thin spinster. If she ruled a mountain demesne, she was probably tough as an old saddle and about as leathery.

Ambrose had informed Cain he was certain someone in Lady Agatha's household was aiding and abetting the land pirates. It was his plan to pose as an itinerant dance instructor invited to live in while giving lessons, and try to discover who the culprit might be. The mental image of the former zipperhead leading a shriveled crone through a maze of intricate dance steps brought a smile to Cain's lips for the first time since fleeing Deegee's blatant approach in the stables the day before.

"Any idea why the Witch wanted unicorns exterminated?" Cain asked.

"She was afraid if a Goldenhorn were born, the Resistance might acquire it. Think what a coupe that would have been! There hasn't been one for three or four decades. Whenever one turns up, it's always a mundane altered to look magical. With the gene pool so decimated now, there probably won't ever be another. Even the mundanes are threatened."

Cain's throat felt oddly constricted at the thought of no more unicorns. "And the pirates holed up in Lady Agatha's demesne are somehow interfering with their reproduction?"

He pictured his son's small-holding high in an isolated outpost probably quite similar to Unicorn's Leap. Jeb's tiny band of she'corns were still too young to produce offspring. Nevertheless, anyone disturbing them wouldn't have lasted two days in his son's territory. Why, he wondered, didn't "devoted" Aunt Agatha do something about her problem a long time ago?

Ambrose shrugged. "So it seems. I don't really understand the underlying issues-I'm not altogether familiar with unicorn husbandry."

Cain was. Or at least the lore and legends, thanks to his son's great passion for unicorns. As a boy Jeb chattered endlessly about the legendary racers, the great war-steeds, the Goldenhorns which healed the bloodiest battle injuries with the touch of their magical horns.

In more recent times, maybe once in twenty thousand births, a Golden appeared, instantly recognizable from mundane herd mates by the leonine tail, short haired and tufted at the tip, and the tiny golden nub in the middle of its forehead.

According to legend, Jeb had lectured, long, long ago, when the need for healing became as critical as fighting skills, unicorn genes were infused with Seer DNA. "And that's how come their tails look like a lion's, and why they can heal wounds and send thoughts to their Keeper. They can even alter time, but nobody knows how they do it."

Cain didn't know why Goldens' tails looked like a lion's, but he had not the slightest doubt their telepathy and ability to heal was as much a myth as the belief powdered unicorn horn cured impotency and restored virility and vigor to men long past their prime of life.

"Please, Cain, let me go along. Now that you're a Tin Man again-"

"No one's supposed to know that."

Chief of Palace Security was a civilian appointment. For this undertaking, Cain needed the authority to arrest-and if necessary, terminate-felons. Reactivating his Tin Man status gave him that authority. Older and wiser than the brash young squaretoes who'd served on the Mystic Man's protection detail, he chose to keep his reinstatement quiet. His star, albeit concealed from view, once again rode above his heart.

Ambrose raised his right hand. "I won't breathe a word, Cain. Not to anyone, I swear. I'll be your eyes and ears. I think I'd make a wonderful spy. I know, you can deputize me and-"

Cain shook his head. "You can be my eyes and ears here. Ride herd on our princesses and keep them out of mischief."

"You…don't want a deputy?"

He sounded so wistful Cain almost gave in.

"I think I can handle it. Besides, you know I work alone."

Ambrose's smile was that of a broken puppet. "I thought we made a wonderful team, you, Raw, Deegee and me. Ah well, one riot one Ranger, eh?"

"What?"

"Oh, just remembering a story Deegee told me about an Otherside Tin Man. Texas Rangers, they're called. He was sent to help a constable quell an on-going disturbance. When he arrived without a security team, the constable asked him, 'Why did they only send one ranger?' The Ranger replied, 'You've only got one riot.'"

000X000X000X000X

Although travel by broomflight might be old-fashioned and "witchy", Azkedellia reveled in soaring high above the earth, hair whipping around her face, her cape snapping and popping behind her. She had waited one full day after Cain departed Castle Gale before slipping away. When she arrived at Unicorn's Leap, her scrying glass showed him with several hours of jouncing over the Old Road still to endure.

Lady Agatha Radcliff, Aunt Aggie, greeted her with an embrace as warm and welcoming as when they'd shared sleep-overs as pre-teen schoolmaids.

"Aggie! How I have missed you! You haven't changed a bit."

Agatha held her at arm's length. "You're looking pale. And you're too thin. Some home-cooked meals and this fresh mountain air will do wonders for you. How long can you stay?"

"Not long at all, I'm afraid. Just until I've explained the favor I need to ask. I'm not supposed to leave Palace Gale without an escort."

"Favor? Well, I certainly owe you. If you hadn't made the Witch believe we were simple dairy farmers, chances are Unicorn's Leap would be nothing but ashes. Come on, let's go ask Cassidy for some tea and you can tell me what you're up to."

"Cassidy! She's still with you? She must be close to eighty annuals now."

"Of course she's still with me. Without Cassidy, I couldn't manage." Agatha's voice dropped. "She's begun to feel her age, I think. But her nieces help out, even when I can only pay with butter and eggs."

Azkedellia had been shocked at the stronghold's run-down appearance from the air. The milkmares grazing in their pasture looked fat and glossy, but neither human worker nor tik-tok was visible. The empty pens, the over-grown grounds, the untended flowerbeds made the stronghold look abandoned. Camouflage, she'd hoped, but apparently that was not so.

Now, when they entered the kitchen, it looked as spotless as she remembered, but empty of help. The only house servant she'd seen was the butler-bot, which looked oddly disconcerted when she appeared, broom in hand, at the Great Hall's family entrance. Even Cassidy was nowhere about, although a porcelain tea service graced the table in the breakfast nook. The aroma of still-warm cookies wafted from a covered plate.

"She's probably resting," Lady Agatha said. "She tires easily these days."

"You can't run the stronghold without help," Azkedellia said when they had settled with full teacups and the cookie platter between them. "What's happened to everyone?"

"I had to let most of my people go. I couldn't pay them. I had no work, no surplus income. We have a few geldings here for training, but we stopped taking she'corns for breeding when the Witch ordered all unicorn stallions castrated. We had to hide Hamlet. Hom stayed on, of course, and Eli and Levi-they're too old to find other work. "

Azkedellia winced. How many more of the Witch's hideous acts must she atone for?

"I manage well enough with the tik-toks and Hom. Eli and Levi will be back when they've recovered."

'Dellia vaguely recalled the twin stable hands, elderly even when she was small. "Recover? What happened to them?"

"The brakes failed on the U-dub. They were more shaken up than injured, but I sent them to a hospice to rest and recuperate. And of course I have my butler-bot, Smythe. Thank goodness I kept him. He can do almost any task. He even repaired the utility wagon."

Azkedellia had noticed the butler-bot hovering in the background since her arrival. 'Lurking' might be a more apt term for his stealthy surveillance. She'd disliked the creature on sight, for no reason she could put a finger on.

"I don't remember you having a butler."

"You wouldn't. Winston bought it a year or two before his death. Even refurbished, it-he-cost a queen's ransom, but he's so efficient I was able to sell my standard domestic units, which brought in just enough platinum to pay the stronghold's last tax assessment."

"I don't understand. Surely something more critical than losing a few 'cornlets has caused…all this." Azkedellia waived a hand to signify the entire stronghold's deterioration. She hadn't meant to sound callous, but she saw Agatha bristle and her reply was tart.

"It hasn't been easy since Winston died. Conditions were difficult everywhere while you were enslaved. No one has recovered fully. Even now, we're operating in the red. This season was the first we risked offering Hamlet to outside she'corns again, but we lost so many of our own 'cornlets last season, and the rumors were so disturbing, most Breeders went elsewhere. Breeders and owners who for annuals defied the Witch and sent us their finest 'corns have stopped. With no 'cornlets of my own to sell, I need those fees to cover my operating expenses."

"What happened to your 'cornlets? Your message talked about land pirates."

"We've never found out. At first only an occasional foal disappeared. That happens, sometimes, if the 'cornlet is stillborn, if the mother is too young, if a predator strikes before the mother and 'cornlet rejoin the herd. But Hamlet has always sired strong, healthy foals, and I don't breed the younger she'corns so I have wise mothers and a herdsire no predator dares challenge. Just the same, last season at least a dozen newborns simply…vanished."

"That's very strange," Azkedellia said, and sipped her tea.

"It gets stranger."

At about the same time as the foals began disappearing, Lady Agatha continued, she began hearing rumors about land pirates hiding in the mountains begirding Unicorn's Leap. They raided isolated crofts, looted gemstone diggings, and even made forays into smaller villages, making off with a peculiar assortment of odds and ends pirates had no possible use for.

"People thought they might be stealing the 'cornlets to counterfeit Goldens. That's ridiculous. I'd like to see anyone separate_ my _mama 'corns from their babies-never mind get past Hamlet. He's utterly fearless. Besides which, hand-raising hungry orphans until they're old enough to alter and pass off as Goldens requires hard physical labor. Not something land pirates are inclined to do."

"Not when it's easier to rob caravans or hold up trains."

The women giggled.

"Just the same, I asked for a security sweep of my holdings. I hoped to locate the raiders, eliminate them, and see if that solved the mystery. They found nothing. Without Winston guiding them, the District Constable's posse was lost more than half the time. They rode in circles for days." Lady Agatha glared at her teacup as if the posse's failure were somehow its fault. "Then Constable Sedgewick tried a balloon fly-over. As dense as those mountain forests are, any pirates would have to waive a signal flag from a treetop for anyone to sight them!"

When the fly-over produced no sign of trespassers, the D.C. declared the pirates had moved on. And with foaling season ended, the raids did diminish, leading many to believe Sedgewick was correct. But rumors about Unicorn's Leap not only persisted, they grew worse.

"They said Hamlet's bloodline was tainted. That we were covering up stillbirths. Reporting them missing instead of dead. That Hamlet was producing deformed 'cornlets and we were slaughtering them to hide the truth, so we wouldn't lose our license. "

"That's ridiculous."

"Of course it is. And it's almost bankrupted us. I had to sell almost all my two- and three-year-olds just to make ends meet."

To Azkedellia's utter amazement, Agatha smiled.

"One good thing did come of this, though. A new Breeder, just putting together his first herd, came to look over my stock. I've been lonely since Winston died. My year of grieving was over and…we became rather interested in one another-"

"Aggie! Really? You're blushing! Is he gorgeous?"

Agatha sighed. "He will be when he grows into himself. He's…rather young."

"They're never too young to train up properly."

The women exchanged smirks.

"I let him buy six of my best fillies. We made plans for me to visit his outpost and check on them before this foaling season got underway." Agatha wiped cookie crumbs from her lips. "That wasn't supposed to be for another ten days, but unicorns seldom worry if their deliveries coincide with their Breeders' plans. Last week my pregnant 'corns began slipping off to birth their babies. And the babies are disappearing again."

Agatha stood. "That's why I sent word to your father. I have to find out what's happening. If I keep losing my 'cornlets, if I can't demonstrate it's safe to send outside stock here, I'll lose my license, and Unicorn's Leap as well."

"I won't let that happen," Azkedellia said. "A man is coming who can help, I'm sure of it. He's part of the favor I've come to ask. Just one thing. You can't let him know I came here."

O00X000X000X000X000X

The groundcar purred along, the tires making a quiet susurration on the brickwork byway. Cain wished he'd requisitioned a model with a fold-away top. As he neared the mountain enclave enfolding Unicorn's Leap, the scenery grew ever more spectacular, with soaring snow-capped peaks and old growth forests teeming with wildlife. The air smelled crisp and clean, flavored with a hint of autumn. Would he live to see the coming spring? Would he see the coming spring if he lived?

Stop thinking about it, he chided. You've got a job to do.

Cain breezed past an unmanned gatehouse and followed an orange brickwork drive to the Great Hall's front portico. He clambered from the ground car, using a bone-cracking stretch to hide the once-over he gave the immediate vicinity.

Built, Ambrose had told him, as an outpost to repel invaders from beyond the mountain range, the stronghold's Great Hall and outbuildings were constructed of felled trees with their incombustible bark left in place. A palisade had once surrounded the demesne headquarters. When the stronghold became a hunting lodge, the palisade was torn down. Even without it, the three-story Great Hall looked able to withstand anything from lightning strikes to monkbat sorties. Or land-pirate raids.

It also looked deserted. Someone should be on watch, workers tending animals and the grounds. To his disappointment, only milkmares grazed the nearest pastures, not a single unicorn among them. Funny Jeb hadn't mentioned how run down the stronghold looked. Although, come to think of it, Jeb hadn't said much about Unicorn's Leap at all.

As Cain climbed the steps to the veranda, the door swung open. Unoiled hinges screeched. A liveried butler appeared.

"Please state your business."

The less than cordial greeting brought Cain up short. Tik-tok, he thought, although the butler-bot bore little resemblance to the clockwork robots many farmsteads still retained for simple repetitive tasks. It must have undergone several restructures and upgrades. Should have been traded in, he mused. The newest models were indistinguishable from humans. Had better manners, too. What happened to 'How may I be of service?'

"I'm here to see Lady Agatha."

"I was not informed of any appointments. Please state the nature of your call."

"Her ladyship is expecting her nephew, Ambrose. I'm here to inform her he won't be coming."

"I will give her ladyship your message. Good day." The butler-bot started to close the door.

Cain was fed up with this surly 'bot. "You," he said, "will inform her ladyship I am here and wish to speak with her. Command alpha-two."

The butler-bot stood motionless, its eyes slowly closing and opening as it processed the priority code. Probably it had never before been issued such an order. Finally, voice oddly mechanical, it said, "I will inquire whether her ladyship will see you. Please come inside and wait."

Cain hid a smile. The damned thing sounded like it was still searching for a way to send him packing, but an alpha-two command was not to be ignored or disobeyed.

The butler-bot left him in the library. Books filled floor-to-ceiling shelves on two walls, and much of a third between two arched windows. Plush easy chairs and leather upholstered sofas, writing desks, and game tables harked back to the Great Hall's days as a hunting lodge. As did a full-grown bunniebear rug, complete with mounted skull. Cain estimated a good eight feet between maw and stubby tail-tuft. The poor things looked vicious, but a kid with a stick could send them high-tailing.

A massive fireplace warmed the room with a cheery blaze which changed from orange to yellow to green to blue. Cain gazed into the flames, utterly absorbed.

"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" a low feminine voice asked.

Cain pivoted, hand seeking his service revolver. Despite a suede skirt and riding boots, the woman had come up behind him without making a sound. "Aunt Agatha?"

"Hardly, since you are most definitely not my one and only nephew, Ambrose."

Nor was she the shriveled crone he'd expected. Cain had to remind himself not to gape. He bowed. "My apologies. Your ladyship?"

She was as compelling as the creatures she watched over, with hair the same iridescent white as a unicorn's and eyes the same golden green. Her pale skin looked soft and warm as sun-struck rose petals, her crimson lips made for kissing. He had to mentally restrain himself from reaching to touch her.

Uh-oh, he thought, that Siren blood Ambrose warned of. It could make men slaves.

She eyed him with the same anticipatory scrutiny a raven gives a particularly delectable ear of corn. "Nor are you the 'messenger boy' Smythe said was waiting."

Cain uttered a short laugh. The butler-bot needed a serious overhaul if it perceived him as a messenger-or a boy. He moved a step closer to Lady Agatha, keeping his voice as low and soft as she did hers.

"No, I'm definitely not Ambrose. But I do carry a message. My name is Wyatt Cain. Ambrose regrets he is unable to undertake the mission you requested. He sent me to see if I could help."

Cain opened his coat, letting Lady Agatha glimpse his badge. Her eyes widened slightly, then narrowed as she took a long, reassessing look that measured him from scalp to boot soles. Made him tingle from scalp to boot soles.

She glided to his side and linked an arm through his. "Let's go outside where we can talk."

"That about sums it up," Lady Agatha said, her recitation of the problems besetting Unicorn's Leap finished. "I assume you have in mind a_ raison d'etre _for your presence here?"

Cain realized he'd given the matter no thought whatsoever. Two full days of ground car travel gave him ample opportunity to prepare his cover story. Instead, he'd spent the time wallowing in self-pity. Let his mind ramble hither and yon trying to fathom the fickleness of fate, when he should have concentrated on his mission.

_You're getting old, Cain. Losing your touch._

He would have reamed out a subordinate who shirked his duty so carelessly. Having to admit his failure shamed him. He had to formulate something, fast.

"Ambrose intended to masquerade as a dancing master. No one would ever mistake me for that. I thought I'd pose as a visiting Breeder looking for stock."

Her cold stare told him she knew he'd picked the first idea that came to mind, and wasn't impressed.

"And what, pray, do you know about unicorns that would authorize you even to buy one, much less qualify as a Breeder? A few questions from my retainers or my crofters would expose you as a fraud in a heartbeat."

She might be surprised at how much he knew. Having accompanied Jeb on two or three buying trips, he had endured the same enthusiastic lectures on unicorn lore as when his son was little. On the other hand, Lady Agatha was right. He probably knew just enough to trip himself up. He'd been a Tin Man too long to risk that.

"Then I may as well play it straight. Concentrate on flushing out the pirates. If I can collar one or two, get them to talk, we'll find the rest in no time."

Concentrate was the key word. Having those green-gold eyes fixed on him so intently made focusing on anything else difficult as hell. His mind kept veering off onto topics far more interesting than land pirates. For example, would her ladyship's gaze soften in response to a lover's touch, or blaze with heated desire?

"With all due respect, Tin Man Cain, if it were that simple, our local security teams would have eliminated the pirates months ago."

"With all due respect, Lady Agatha, your local security teams may be part of the problem."

They locked eyes, neither willing to concede. Then Lady Agatha said, "All the more reason for you to remain incognito. And I believe I can suggest a ruse that will give you _carte_ _blanche_ to ask whatever questions you might have and…explore…wherever you wish."

All Cain's instincts told him not to ask what she had in mind. Told him to simply cut and run, tail between his legs. But run where? There was no place like home, but for now, home was something he didn't have. And Cain was never a man to back down from a challenge.

He took a deep breath. "And that is?"


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

"Well?" Azkedellia prompted.

"Well, indeed," Agatha replied in the voice of a cat preparing to pounce on an unsuspecting canary. Azkedellia could almost see her tail twitch.

They watched Wyatt Cain as he took in the lay of the land from the terrace three stories below Lady Agatha's private suite.

"Does he always stand like that?"

Azkedellia saw nothing wrong with Cain's stance, the square shoulders, the powerful thighs, a raptor's watchful alertness.

"Like how?"

"Like there's a poker up his-"

"Shh-h-h-h! he'll _hear_ you!"

"Not from out there."

They dissolved into giggles at the mental image Agatha's question produced. Then she asked, "Does he always _dress _like that?"

Azkedellia liked Cain's casual clothing. Uniforms and livery and formal attire had their place but could grow wearisome after a while. Just the same, if those suede pants hugged his butt any tighter, he might as well not bother wearing them.

Gritting her teeth, she said, "Like what?"

"Like…the Lone Tin Man riding off to capture renegade scarecrows. All he lacks is a faithful Munchkin companion riding by his side."

"Deegee fills that role. She clings like a burr."

"Ah, Deegee. The real reason we have Mr. Cain's services in lieu of Ambrose's."

Perspiring from a sudden rush of heat, Azkedellia asked, "Are you sensing anything?"

"Only that he's troubled. Afraid to commit."

"Commit? To what? To whom?"

"To anyone, I should think, given what you've told me about him. He probably keeps very busy with casual affairs."

"He does not! I've never seen him even flirt-and believe me, the palace domestics do whatever it takes to catch his eye. He's not a womanizer."

Agatha arched an eyebrow. "You know that, do you? Then why ask me?"

"Because I know something is worrying him. The seer Raw knows what, but won't tell. Aren't you getting anything at all?"

"Not really. Maybe he's gay. Afraid someone who shouldn't know will find out."

Azkedellia resisted a powerful impulse to kick Agatha's shin. "Bah!"

Her gaze resting on Cain's lean form, Agatha said, "I wonder if he'll find it pleasant pretending to court me-"

"I. Saw. Him. First."

Agatha laughed. "_That's _what I thought. You do fancy him."

Azkedellia's arms crossed over her bosom and her chin lowered. "I cannot believe he agreed to play the part of…of your _suitor_. How could you ask him to do that? He's here to save those precious unicorns of yours-not warm your bed."

"Tell _him_ that. Besides, he didn't have much choice. For a Tin Man, he seemed rather ill-prepared. He agreed pretending to be a potential bonded consort does give him freedom to explore." Agatha paused, then added with a sly smirk, "Wherever he wants."

"Touch him and I'll turn your hair into hoopsnakes."

Agatha chortled. "Not to worry, my dear 'Dellia, I won't lay a finger on him. Remember how we used to fool the grown-ups when we were little?"

Azkedellia thought for a moment. "The illusion spell! I haven't worked it since- Since before. I'm not even sure I remember how it goes. Besides, it only lasts for an hour or so. That's not enough time to learn anything."

"That was when we were children and unpracticed. We're both stronger now. Between us, we can make it last until one of us chooses to break it. Come on, let's give it a try."

Two Lady Agathas studied their reflections in a looking glass. Both rail thin, one from regular physical labor, one from the shock of expelling the Witch. Their garments differed, and the reflection on the left wavered a bit and lacked the neighboring image's green-gold eyes. But for those differences, they might have been twins.

"Cosmetic lenses," said Agatha-on-the-right, and made for her make-up chest.

Azkedellia couldn't get over seeing herself with silver-white hair, lighter even than her mother's pale tresses. She wasn't sure she liked the effect. Reminding herself that to dispel the illusion she need only command it gone, 'Dellia turned to her aunt-twin

"Very well. I'm you and you're you. What now?"

"Now you do whatever it takes to coax that poker-faced hunk into bed and see if a little after-sex pillow talk makes him spill his secrets."

Hoping Agatha didn't discern the heat staining her skin, Azkedellia asked, "You don't think someone might notice there are two of us?"

"Who's to notice. Besides, there won't be two of us. Since your Tin Man's on the job, I can slip away for a few days. And no one will know I'm gone because you'll be here in my place."

"But Aggie, I have to return to Palace Gale before someone realizes I'm gone. Besides, I don't know the first thing about running a stud farm!"

"You'll do fine, no longer than I'll be gone. Send word that I've invited you to stay a few days. Then just follow your instincts. Do whatever you think I'd probably do-especially with you-know-who."

"But I- What if something goes wrong? Where are you going?"

"I'm going to visit the Breeder I told you about. Do you mind if I borrow your broom?"

000X000X000X000X000X

The mountain ranges looked deep and mysterious in the late afternoon suns. Distant motion drew Cain's gaze to a small band of unicorns cantering toward the stronghold. Only six or eight, he realized, and no stallion with them. Saddle stock, then. Maybe the 'corns here for training. They came in for the night like a herd of milkmares. The herdsire and breeding band must be in some distant pasture. Why, Cain wondered. If the foals were in danger, why not keep them close to home?

A prickling on the back of his neck captured his attention, warned him he was under scrutiny. Probably one of the domestics, pausing in her duties to wonder who he was. Nothing alarming.

Except, he sensed something vaguely familiar behind the keen observation. He always felt a tingle when Deegee watched him from afar. He'd grown adept at identifying her gaze, separating it from those that might prove hostile. While this was similar, it wasn't quite the same.

Then he had it. Azkedellia. He often knew when she watched him, too. From her he sensed a cautious, almost fearful intensity. She no longer had anything to fear from him, but she still didn't believe he would offer up his life to defend her as readily as he would any other member of the royal family. More than any other, if the truth were ripped, bloody and quivering, from his deepest secrets.

"Can't go there," he muttered under his breath. "Not now." Not ever.

But he'd left 'Dellia two days travel distant, safe and secure behind palace walls.

'Dellia had forsworn Dark magic, but that didn't prevent two bored and curious females from using the scrying glass to- Well, snoop wasn't the most flattering word to describe what the princesses might be up to, but certainly was accurate enough if they were zeroing in on him.

Or maybe I'm getting squirrelly, he concluded.

As if merely changing the direction of his gaze, he turned to study the façade behind him. On the third floor, a small balcony overlooked the terrace where he stood. No one occupied it now. No one peered out from the balcony doors. But Cain would have bet his last platinum someone had watched from there only moments ago.

Returning to his suite, Cain saw his meager luggage was unpacked and his clothing put away. He was glad to be relieved of the job. The journey had tired him more than he wanted to admit. Minutes later, as he stripped off his travelworn clothing, it occurred to him the "courtesy" had given someone the perfect opportunity to nose through his belongings.

They would have found little of interest in his carry-all, although a discerning eye would note he possessed none of the incidentals a genuine suitor would bring-no jewelry for gifts, no love philters, only a standard supply of antisemin, the prophylactic all OZ males used unless actively seeking to start a family.

A small duffel contained several incriminating items. Secured with an identity-recognition spell, it showed no sign of tampering. Just the same, Cain swiftly checked the contents: his credentials, an auxiliary twelve-inch barrel for his service revolver, extra ammunition, the two kill-slugs allotted Tin Men above a certain rank.

Kill-slugs were a scrupulously guarded trade secret, their existence known only to the royal family, a scant few trusted advisors, and the handful of Tin Men entrusted with their use. Lethal to any creature magical or mundane, the loads consisted of particulate silver, liquefied iron, and infinitely tiny needles coated with curare, all molded tidily into .44 caliber rounds designed to explode within the target body.

Use of a kill-slug required a rock-steady hand, an unerring eye, and the guts to "terminate beyond resurrection". The Mystic Man handed him two the night he promised to keep Deegee safe. He loaded them in his revolver before they stormed the Witch's fortress. The surest way to protect Deegee was to put one or both slugs straight into the hag's vile heart, no matter the cost to himself.

Thinking of the irredeemable catastrophe accomplishing his mission would have caused turned Cain's blood to ice. If Azkedellia had perished by his hand….

Briskly he tossed his soiled clothing into a chute marked _LAUNDRY_, then turned the shower on hot as he could get it. He couldn't let such horrifying thoughts deter him. He had fired the lethal slugs three times in his career. Never once had he flinched. If the situation warranted, he would use them again, without regret or remorse.

As for Lady Agatha, just how far, he asked himself as the needle-fine spray cascaded over him, was he prepared to go? Pretending to court her was a far from onerous masquerade. He'd felt an attraction from the moment he saw her. Siren blood, no doubt, but she was lovely and intelligent and he was a man with a man's needs and yearnings. The woman he wanted was beyond his reach and his future anything but rosy. Why shouldn't he enjoy her favors if she chose to bestow them. It was, after all, her scheme.

He decided not to decide. He was here to do a job and the job came first. If the lady found her way to his bed, well then….

Emerging from the bathing room in a cloud of steam, a thick, soft towel wrapped around his hips, he stopped short at the sight of clothing laid out on the bed. It wasn't his.

But it fit him. The soft black trousers were somewhat…clingy, but gave with every move. When he stole a peek at himself in the cheval glass, he decided the loose shirt with its full sleeves and lace-up yoke gave him a distinctly roguish appearance. Was this how Lady Agatha expected guests to dress for dinner? After a moment, he returned to the bathing room and got out his razor.

With dinner still an hour away, Cain returned to the library. The fire was burning low, so he added a few sticks from the wood rack. No colors danced in the flames now, but the natural yellow-orange glow appealed to him.

The butler-bot padded in, silent as a shadow. "Something to drink before dinner…sir?"

The damned thing still sounded surly. Too bad it wasn't human. He'd like to have a private word or two with it.

"Coffee. Black. Please," he said, speaking as if to an automated vendor of the lowest artificial intelligence.

The butler-bot inclined its head and padded off without reply.

It was Lady Agatha who carried in the coffee service.

Cain's breath stopped in his chest. Her gown mirrored the color of the flames in the fireplace. The plush fabric clung to her torso, then flared in deep vertical pleats from her hips to her ankles. One sleeve extended to her wrist. The other didn't exist. The neckline scooped down far enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. She wore a gold collar from which dangled a shimmering teardrop pendant. Unicorn ivory, Cain realized when he could stop mentally sliding that sleeve down and baring her…other shoulder.

"Dinner won't be much longer. I imagine you're hungry."

_Starving._

Cain took the heavy tray from her hands. Her ladyship, he noted, was having something amber in a tall crystal pitcher. He wondered if the butler-bot had spiked the coffee with rat poison.

"What's that you're drinking?" he asked as she poured coffee into a thick ceramic mug.

She handed him the mug, gestured for him to sit, then splashed the amber liquid into a gold-rimmed goblet. "Sweet cider. Would you like to try it?" Her smile suggested she already knew his answer.

"No thanks." He shook his head and managed not to grimace. "It must be something in the genes. Besides Azkedellia-and the Munchkins-you're the only person I've met who likes that…libation." He almost said swill.

"You seem quite familiar with my niece's tastes."

Cain shrugged. "It pays to know your enemy. It's no secret, Lady Agatha, once I would have executed Azkedellia on sight."

She seated herself across from the easy chair he'd chosen and sipped her cider. "And now?"

"I guard the royal family. She's a part of it."

"I see."

Cain could have told her she didn't see nearly as much as she thought she did. Instead, he changed the subject.

"Good coffee. Nice room. Ambrose told me this once was a hunting lodge. It's nice you kept the rustic look."

"It was my late consort's choice."

He straightened. "I didn't know you're a widow. I grieve with you in your loss."

"I no longer grieve. In fact, before this matter of the pirates disrupted my plans, I was considering a genuine search for another lifemate. I don't enjoy living without companionship."

"You shouldn't have to search very long, Lady Agatha. Any man would be honored to pledge his bond to someone as attractive as you."

"You flatter me." She gave a deprecating shrug. "The problem is, too many will be pledging their bond to my lands and my title."

At least she had a choice, Cain thought, coming to his feet. Lucky her.

Earlier he had spotted a framed map on one wall. Now, when he crossed to examine it, he saw it depicted the lands making up Unicorn's Leap, not with parchment and ink but with threads on cloth.

"Is this map accurate?" he asked, studying the stitchery.

How would I know, Azkedellia mentally huffed. It had hung on the wall for as long as she could remember. If it bore an enchantment that regularly brought it up to date, she'd never noticed.

"When it was finished. That was a long time ago. Now there are probably numerous discrepancies."

"Got one more accurate?"

Did Cain ever stop being all business? Wasn't he supposed to at least act like a suitor, even if it was only a pose? Maybe Aggie was right about that poker.

She'd certainly been right about the clothing they'd conjured. It looked even better on him than they'd anticipated, although unlacing the yoke might prove tiresome. If she created another shirt, it would be a simple pull-over.

He'd turned to face her, awaiting her reply, she realized. Azkedellia's gaze floundered to a stop on his hands. His thumbs had hooked in his waistband. The index and middle fingers pointed directly at his groin. Even if she'd known the answer, she couldn't at that moment have articulated it. She swallowed a hasty sip of the sweet cider as she mentally scrabbled for a response.

"Dinner is served."

Azkedellia managed to stifle a whoosh of relief. Much as she disliked Aggie's butler-bot, she blessed the machine for arriving when it did.

Dinner proved one of the most exasperating affairs Azkedellia had ever presided over. Each time she steered the conversation toward topics she could intelligently discuss, Cain fired off yet another question about the pirates, or the 'corns, or the stronghold. She could provide a few vague answers from her earlier conversation with Agatha, but she knew little else. From Cain's frequently puzzled expression, her answers must sound terribly-to use Deegee's expression-lame.

"You must understand, Mr. Cain, for many years my consort undertook the day-to-day operations here. I supervised the training and breeding programs. I have only recently begun reclaiming my full duties and responsibilities. I have much catching up to do." There! That should forestall any more questions for a while.

All the same, after the butler-bot arrived with a rich-looking apple torte for dessert, Cain voiced yet another inquiry.

"What's become of your household staff? So far, all I've seen are the butler-bot and one or two maids."

"I let most of them go," Azkedellia said. "After my consort's death, I closed off most of the lodge. It seemed foolish to care for so many rooms with only myself and Cassidy living here."

"Cassidy?"

"My housekeeper. Who also kindly cooks."

A good thing, that, Azkedellia mused. She could conjure anything from snacks to banquets, but unless transformed from the raw materials, such provender offered little actual sustenance.

"And the maids?"

"They come daily from the village. Cassidy's grand-nieces, I believe. Only Cassidy still lives in. The maids will leave as soon as they've finished in the kitchen. They claim sleeping here gives them nightmares."

Cain's gaze narrowed. "What about you? Nightmares, I mean."

"I sleep soundly enough."

"And this Cassidy?"

Azkedellia smiled. The tough old biddy was more apt to inspire bad dreams than suffer them. During girlhood visits to the stronghold, she and Agatha begged and begged for Cassidy's eerie tales that kept both girls awake all night, convinced horrible_ things_ lurked under their beds or in their wardrobes, waiting to leap out and murder them in their sleep.

"She says not. Scoffs at the maids for being cowardly lions."

She was about to ask why it mattered when Cain said, "Have you had her probed?"

"By a _Seer_?" She shot to her feet, as outraged as the real Lady Agatha would be.

She adored Cassidy. Cassidy had fixed them hot buttered rum-secretly watered down-just like the grown-ups drank. Showed them how to make cunning new doll clothes from fabric scraps and a needle and thread. Led them on forays to gather hens' eggs as First Sun crested the horizon.

"I would as soon ask my own mother to submit to a probe! She's utterly faithful, Mr. Cain. She was my nurse until I outgrew one, then my lady's maid, and now my housekeeper. I trust her with my life."

Cain knew full well how easily trust became betrayal.

"So…it's just the two of you living here in the Great Hall?"

"Well…there's Smythe. He's always available if we need something."

"Smythe! Who-"

"The butler-bot, of course."

"You _named _it?" Cain smothered a snort. "How long have you owned it?"

"_He,_" she emphasized the pronoun, "came to us about three summers ago."

_He_ must be some kind of hybrid, Cain decided. Part nurture unit, part watch-bot. That might account for his suspicious attitude toward visitors. Especially if he really did need a tune-up.

"Do you have his paperwork? I'd like to contact his manufacturers."

"Why under the two suns would you want to do that?"

"Just being thorough. I need to talk to your retainers. How many do you employ?"

"Right now, only the Munchkin, Hom. I had to let the rest go."

She'd mentioned that earlier, Cain reminded himself. Probably about the time he was picturing her ladyship reclining on the bunniebear rug next to the library fireplace when he should have been listening to answers.

He'd speak to Hom tomorrow. The Munchkin probably knew the day-to-day operations better than Lady Agatha did. For some reason, she didn't impress him as the sharp, take-charge doyenne Ambrose had described. Nor the wily female who, only a few hours ago, maneuvered him into posing as her suitor. Maybe she'd downed too much of that nasty sweet cider, and would be more clear-headed in the morning.

When they finished dessert, Lady Agatha said, "Let's take a walk on the terrace before the maids leave, so they can watch us and make up stories about what they see. I imagine the gossip mill will be racing by noon tomorrow."

"My pleasure," Cain said, and offered Lady Agatha his arm."

Just beyond the dining room, the butler-bot waited with the infinite patience of his kind, listening to the visitor-a Tin Man if ever he saw one-quiz the woman who was not Lady Agatha. Lady Agatha had vanished without, so far as he could ascertain, letting even Cassidy know she'd left a substitute in her place.

He knew it was not the real Lady Agatha, for he no longer felt the calling. His Trueflesh shell no longer resonated with forbidden urges. A good thing, that lessening of distraction. A Tin Man poking around seriously increased the risk of discovery. Called for greater caution. He must remain fully alert, lest a foolish mistake expose his undertaking. Unmasking the imposter was not one iota as important as completing the mission so very close to fruition.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: I want to apologize for the irregular scene breaks in the previous chapters. I am still learning my way around. I hope I've corrected those issues with this latest installment. Suggestions for doing so are most welcome.

"Eater" is the local term for papay.

Cheers, Scarlet G

CHAPTER FOUR

The night air, brisk and bracing, smelled of distant pine trees. It brought to Cain's mind other nights he'd spent in the open, the moon and stars the only light for miles around. He'd never liked urban environs, not even when assigned to safeguard the Mystic Man. He'd learned to function with deadly efficiency in both avenues boasting grand mansions and refuse-filled back alleys, but his heart yearned for open spaces beyond the taint of too many people living too close together.

Lady Agatha's hand, light as a feather in the bend of his elbow, sent a warming tingle along his nerve paths. His make-believe lover. Maybe play-acting wasn't so bad after all.

Below the terrace, fireflies transformed the dark gardens into a galaxy in miniature. "I had forgotten how lovely they are," Lady Agatha said.

With her free hand, she made a quick gesture. In moments a cluster of flickering constellations formed: The Chariot, Greater Bunniebear, Lesser Bunniebear, The Unicorn.

"Not bad," Cain said. "I've seen Azkedellia do that with honeybees."

Azkedellia managed not to flinch. Merciful Ozma, when would she learn to stop showing off?

"I suppose it's like the sweet cider," she said. "Something in the genes. When 'Dellia and I were little, we used to see who could set the most pebbles whirling about. She always won. Her magic is much stronger than mine."

Cain laughed. "Well, I don't have any special talents at all."

Oh, I suspect you do, Azkedellia thought and hid a smirk. Just not the kind you're thinking of.

She released the fireflies with another gesture, uttering a soft "Ooooh," as they scattered like an explosion of sparks from a campfire.

They were a little out of step and every few paces Cain felt her hip brush his. Neither did anything to change it. That little warm tingle where her hand rested on his arm had grown into a steadily pounding pulse and heated his entire his entire body. He tried to concentrate on the fireflies, or the stars, or the pungent aroma of unicorn wafting on the wind. All that came to mind was when-not if-he would kiss her.

Do I even remember how, he wondered. Not a brotherly peck on the cheek, but the damn-you-turn-me-on kiss that got hotter and wetter the longer you held it? Could he still accomplish it without bumping noses or stepping on her toes or something even more humiliating?

She stopped. He didn't. Their bodies collided as he grabbed her to keep from bowling her over. Her scent was suddenly strong in his nostrils, a scent his body instantly reacted to. His mouth found hers, her arms slid 'round his neck and the press of her breasts against his chest set his heart hammering against his ribs.

xxxoooxxxoooxxx

Azkedellia, panting shallowly, gazed after Cain's retreating form, his white shirt a fading beacon as he crossed the terrace. Her knees felt rubbery. She had to stiffen her spine to manage the few steps to a bench overlooking the gardens. There she collapsed, more than seated herself.

Cain had kissed her. Her blood still bubbled.

Granted he didn't know who he'd kissed, but that didn't make the feel of his mouth on hers any less overwhelming. Her entire body had ignited. She suspected his did, too. From the careful way he'd disengaged from their embrace, he had reacted the way any normal, healthy male would react when kissing an attractive woman. And Aggie was without question attractive, damn her.

Azkedellia fingered the long, shimmery white hair tumbling over her shoulders. Cain had tangled his fingers in it before breaking off the kiss. When she returned to Palace Gale, perhaps she'd see about turning her own hair unicorn white. Not that Cain would notice, nor let it influence him if he did. He guarded the royal family. He did not involve himself in their affairs. He didn't make love to royal daughters. Either of them.

But he was Lady Agatha's suitor, if only until he finished his investigation. He had to at least pretend to pay court to her for the ruse to succeed. That meant more physical contact between them. More opportunity to stir his male juices. Aggie would return in a few short days. She could waste no time if she hoped to lure Cain to her bed before time ran out.

xxxoooxxxoooxxx

Cain's heart still slammed against his ribcage when he reached his suite, his blood coursed hot as bubbling pitch through his veins. He hadn't realized how starved his body was for a woman's touch. How much he yearned for a woman's taste and scent. How a mere kiss could enflame his senses.

The feel of Lady Agatha in his arms had burned itself into his awareness like hot iron branded flesh. The way her mouth had yielded to his would haunt him asleep or awake. He knew, if he sought her chambers now, she would welcome him. If she tapped on his door, he would open it. He'd wanted her right there on the terrace, in the grass, under the distant stars.

He paced the small sitting room, waiting for his body to leave him alone. For one of the few times in his life, he didn't know what to do, what to think. Indecision was new to him but was becoming a regular-and damned unwelcome-companion.

He'd left the consultation chamber two weeks ago too stunned to formulate what to do next. The headaches had been growing progressively worse. For a while, herbal remedies helped. Then not. When episodes of blurred vision went from incidental to recurrent, he sought out Raw. Raw had gently taken Cain's skull in his huge paws and worked his magic.

When he was done, he looked as heartbroken as any such creature could.

"What?"

"Friend Cain, Raw has done all he can. There is a growth Raw cannot make go away. Cain must see a Master Healer. Waste no time."

More to placate Raw than from any concerns of his own, for he now felt better than he had in weeks, Cain followed Raw's advice. What Raw had been unable-perhaps unwilling-to articulate, the Master Healer set forth in no uncertain terms.

"We have seen this type of growth before. They are quite rare, fortunately, for there is no cure."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning the headaches will grow ever more severe. The blurred vision will progress to total blindness."

"It…the growth…can't be dissolved?"

Healers like Raw could shrink the growth-tumor, the Master Healer called it-but never completely eradicate it. It would grow back, stronger each time, better able to resist healing. Nor was there any use seeking a surgeon skilled enough to remove it. Excision would end the pain, but leave him blind and probably mentally enfeebled.

"You have perhaps six months before the pain becomes unbearable. Ask for opiates when you feel the need. When opiates no longer bring surcease, ask for Release. It will be granted."

At first Cain felt nothing but rage. Six months. After eight years in a damned stasis chamber where only pure determination kept him from sinking into dementia, kept him constantly exercising his mind, kept him fighting each day, each hour to retain his sense of self, to be handed a lot as insurmountable as this was more than a sane man could bear.

After a three-day bender, he cleaned himself up, put some legal affairs in order, and returned to Palace Gale. He told no one. The last thing he wanted was pity. It would be cruel to worry his friends. Better he shoulder alone the despair sinking its fangs into his soul.

Nor would he ask for Release. Damned if he'd go out with a needle in his vein like some aged sheep-dog or crippled milkmare. When the time came he could no longer endure his affliction, he would find some isolated, primitive area where his ghost, if he produced one, would enjoy a spectacular view and trouble no one, and end it all with a kill-slug to the brain.

Deegee. Poor damn kid. As embarrassing as her crush was, he truly cared for her. But only as men cared for a daughter or beloved sister. She would have understood someday, and their affection for each other blossomed appropriately. Now, 'someday' no longer gleamed on the horizon.

And what of Azkedellia?

What he felt for her was as far beyond his ability to comprehend as his tumor was beyond the reach of Healers. It had struck so suddenly and so mysteriously he at first attributed it to enchantment. Someone's practical joke, perhaps. Azkedellia's activities-while not her fault-had brought sorrow and misery to all he held dear. How could he possibly feel anything but bitterness toward her?

But it was 'Dellia he held in fevered dreams that wrenched him from sleep aroused and shaking with need. 'Dellia whose rare and fleeting smile when bestowed upon him made his heart turn over. 'Dellia who made him long to take her hand and lead her to a flower-filled meadow or secluded pool and speak words he had spoken to no other since the long-ago day he knelt and offered his name and his ring to Adora.

He could do no such thing, of course. Azkedellia was royalty. He was a Tin Man. A morganatic union was out of the question. For himself it didn't matter, but he had his doubts about her inability to bear children-the Witch would have wanted heirs. Subjecting children born to an abdicated queen, and to a titleless, possibly penniless, and without doubt fatherless future was unconscionable.

Oh, yeah? a niggling little voice always countered that argument. Jeb did quite well with no title, no inherited fortune, and no royal blood whatsoever. No father for eight crucial years.

To which Cain replied Jeb needed no appanage nor rank to augment his abilities. _Adora_'s blood ran in his veins.

The point was moot now. But Cain knew he would have died happy if he could have brought Azkedellia to his bed just once before becoming a blind, drooling vegetable.

Given that, why was he so irresistibly drawn to Lady Agatha, a woman he'd never met before today, and in whose presence he'd spent a mere matter of hours?

Her Siren blood, of course. Ambrose had warned him, they didn't have to purposely Call men to attract them. It just happened. Like soured wine drew gnats. Once beyond the circle of her influence he supposed he would become himself again.

With a muffled curse, he picked up his hat and slung it across the room. When that didn't help, he stomped into the bathing room, turned the shower on as cold as he could make the water, stripped off his clothes and stepped in.

* * *

Many miles from the stronghold, while Wyatt Cain fought his body's yearnings beneath a shower's icy spray, the unicorn herdsire Hamlet waged a battle far more desperate.

Driven by the infant 'corn's terrified squeals, Hamlet thrust against the barrier again and again. Each time, it gave then settled back on itself, on him, clinging like the Eaters' pre-digestive sacs. His horn easily ruptured Eaters' sacs, but could not force the tiniest puncture in the barrier holding him fast.

This was not the first time the monstrous traps had imprisoned him. Nor was it the first time a newborn 'cornlet had been stolen. Last season, several disappeared before Hamlet realized how many she'corns, after slipping away to birth their foals, returned with no tiny, long-limbed 'cornlets at their sides. In answer to his "what happened?" whickers, which should have brought replies of "Eaters take" or "born not moving" or other readily understood reason for the natural loss of a foal, they replied with only a grief-stricken utterance, "gone."

Unicorn mothers were obsessively determined to give birth undisturbed, in hideaways they took great pains to conceal. An about-to-deliver she'corn became very adept at evading a herdsire's watchful eye. But Hamlet increased his vigilance and one night silently trailed a pregnant 'corn as she slipped away from the herd.

Shortly after the she'corn reached her hidden bower, Hamlet watched a two-legs creep up on the laboring mother. Known two-legs like their Keeper or the small one, Hom, could generally be trusted to cause no harm. This was a stranger. A stranger who smelled of non-life, like the creatures his Keeper called 'tik-toks' which tended the milkmares. Creatures unicorns instinctively loathed.

Silent as a ghost, he'd stalked the two-legs.

The 'cornlet was on the ground, its mother up and vigorously applying her tongue to the wriggling newcomer when the two-legs struck. Lunging from behind a boulder, it splashed a liquid into the surprised mother's face. Her legs buckled and she sank to the ground. At once the two-legs sized the infant 'corn, slung it over his shoulder, and set off the way he'd come.

Hamlet charged, squealing his outrage. The two-legs could not carry his prize and hope to elude a furious herdsire. It dropped the foal and ran, swarming like a spider up the steep valley wall where Hamlet could not follow.

With a last warning whinny, Hamlet had led the trembling 'cornlet back to its stupefied mother.

Now, no matter how diligently he kept watch, 'cornlets continued to vanish. Even when the mothers brought them safely to the herd, within a day or two, they disappeared. Hamlet could smell the Black One, as he thought of the two-legs. Its tik-tok scent fouled each copse and thornberry bramble in the valley. More than once, waiting in ambush, he drove the Black One away before it could steal another foal. Then it began setting traps for him.

Hamlet could neither see the traps, nor smell them. Until they closed around him, he had no inkling anything was amiss. Then, like a giant cobweb, the barrier surrounded him, and held him captive long enough the Black One could escape.

As it held him now. Hamlet had never so urgently needed to communicate with his Keeper. Unicorn's Leap was a peaceful demesne, his band easily guarded. But Keepers were needed when danger threatened the herd, someone with whom a herdsire could exchange thoughts. Somewhat mind-deaf, Lady Agatha possessed just enough magic to qualify. When distracted, as she had been when her lifemate died, as she was since the two-legs Jeb departed with the small band of filly 'corns, Hamlet might as well send his thoughts to a wall.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Elated with his prize-another Golden!-the butler-bot loped effortlessly toward his laboratory, leaving the struggling herdsire far behind. Stealing 'cornlets was not the game it had been last season. Now, if the herdsire got the chance, it would kill him, or try to. His sort did not truly die unless their memory chips were expunged or the body's molecular structure was disrupted beyond a built-in recompositon process.

The Essence of Unicorn, distilled from the otherwise worthless carcasses of mundane 'cornlets, gave his system a surprising energy boost. While helpful, it was not the result he intended. He had hoped to mask his non-equine origins. His tik-tok origins. With regular injections he could, in fact, approach the she'corns and foals. Not so the herdsire. It was as if the unicorn saw beyond the surface, saw through his many alterations and adjustments to the original primitive robot he had been.

Smythe knew his own history only too well. He was constructed long before a travel-storm gone awry swept the first Gale into OZ. He was designed to serve, nothing more, a tik-tok with their odd pendulum gait and limited ability to think. Yet even then something set him apart from others of his kind, a certain mutation never intended for his genus. Now, he was much, much more.

Unlike most early tik-toks, he was never discarded or cannibalized for parts. He passed through the hands of numerous owners, wealthy young nobles whom he accompanied to University, sorcerers whose mysterious errands he carried out without question or gossip, mundanes common and mundanes possessing the highest intellect who liked to invent, improve, or merely tinker. One of these made him anatomically correct and attempted to instill emotion. To some extent, she succeeded.

He underwent many upgrades and enhancements. Improved body structure. TrueFlesh. Augmented intelligence. If mechanical means did not accomplish the desired results, enchantment did. When tasks performed for a dark mage required specialized forms, he received the ability to shape-shift, and with it the means to swiftly heal his robotic flesh. Although he bled black, he did indeed bleed, for his Trueflesh exterior was a molecular mirror image of living tissue.

If ever a robot possessed all the perquisites available to his caste, it was Smythe. The only thing he lacked was the one thing he desired most-to become a living creature.

Arriving at his cavern laboratory, he thrust the bleating newborn into the pen with the other 'cornlets. In moments, all were crying piteously, the noise falling on his auditory sensors like fingernails scraping slate. Where were those lazy milkmares? Not even they could sleep through such a racket.

Not all the 'cornlets he captured were Goldens, but he took them regardless. Despite stories insisting Goldens were gone forever, almost half of last season's crop possessed the leonine tail and tiny golden nub on their foreheads that marked them magical. Almost half was not enough. He needed more of the tiny horn. To get enough, he had to keep the 'cornlets alive long enough for their horns to grow out. To add to their number from this year's crop. Keeping them fed and healthy was a nightmare.

He'd tried reprogramming a stolen tik-tok to bottle-feed the 'cornlets with milk from Lady Agatha's milkmares. Hungry as they were, the foals hated the thing. They huddled, quivering and bleating, as far from it as their pen permitted.

He next brought a milkmare from the herd, forcing her up the crumbling, twisted goatpath to his cavern lair with such viciousness that the old mare still tried to kick him if he carelessly approached close enough. The mare did her best to feed and discipline the 'cornlets, but could only nurse two at a time. Smythe stole two more, dragging them blindfolded and sedated to his hideaway.

The urgent bleating and whimpering noises the 'cornlets made when hungry-and they were always hungry-infuriated the butler-bot. So much so, he one day had slashed their vocal cords to silence them while he worked. A simple nick and all became peaceful in the echoing caverns housing his laboratory.

It was a mistake he would not make again. Three starved to death before he realized the mares were rejecting the foals, refusing to let them nurse because they no longer made the proper noises. He had to milk the mares and bottle-feed the cornlets himself until he fabricated collars for them that reproduced the cries of a hungry foal, a sound every bit as irritating as the bleating from real 'cornlet throats.

As Smythe entered the tunnel leading to his laboratory, the racket lessened somewhat. He opened his journal and entered the date and time of his latest acquisition, then scrolled to the files detailing his progress so far.

The elixir was almost ready for the final infusion. If he could capture three more 'cornlets, two, even, he would have enough. He had to keep them alive for another few short days before ripping the living horn from their ugly little foreheads. He could endure their screeches until then. And it would be worth it. When the elixir was finished and injected, he would at last become a living, breathing, being.

Smythe let his memory circuits replay his long, hitherto futile, quest for protoplasmic life. Such a transformation had happened at least once, long ago and on the Other Side, that mysterious world where beings almost the same as those inhabiting OZ resided. They were a deprived people, lacking sorcerers and Seers, their magicians mere tricksters who misled, rather than conjured. Yet even in that unfortunate world, a mechanical creature had come to life.

He discovered this amazing fact while in the service of a young Gillicanese attending University. Within the university Hall of Relics reposed a badly damaged text entitled _Pinocchio_. The _Book_, discovered amid debris from the Great Gale's farmhouse, told of an animated wooden creature which yearned to become a "real, live boy", and one day had succeeded. Because many pages were missing from the _Book_, how he had accomplished this remained a mystery.

If possible there, why not here?

While taking notes for his absent student owner in a Life Science lecture, Smythe witnessed the amazing properties of Extract of Biological Intention. The powder possessed the ability to re-animate not just objects that had been alive, but also objects representing a living being, such as portraits. He watched a bunniebear rug leap from the floor and lumber around the classroom. He heard a portrait of one of the Founding Fathers speak. Perhaps Pinocchio had somehow acquired this powder.

At his first opportunity, he stole some for himself.

He barely escaped disaster by testing the powder before sprinkling it upon himself. He located an ancient scarecrow on duty in an isolated garden. Constructed of straw, burlap bags, and odd bits of leather on a wooden frame, animated, it said, by enchantments, it seemed the perfect test subject. Smythe blew a puff of powder on it.

The scarecrow exploded with life, sprouting twiglets and wheat stalks and jute leaves, its leather patches flapping like beached flounders.

In the _Book,_ something transformed an object made of wood not into a tree, but a boy. The Extract of Biological Intention obviously needed modification. He began keeping a detailed record of his research and experiments as he searched for the needed ingredient or incantation.

As if Fate intended for him to pursue this new focus, Smythe was sold to an elderly apothecary, from whom he acquired much useful lore. Even more important, he acquired the freedom to pursue his quest exclusively. One morning the old man failed to awaken from sleep. Smythe disposed of the body and assumed the apothecary's identity. He moved from town to town, zone to zone, absorbing knowledge from every culture and tribe he encountered, creating and discarding one formula after another. Not until he heard the rumor that unicorn horn conveyed youth and vigor to those who ingested it did he realize what must be needed to transform the Biological Intention powders into an Elixir of Life: unicorn horn. And only a Golden's would do.

* * *

In his room at the Great Hall, Cain woke-again. He had tossed and turned since climbing between the crisp sheets and pulling the warm woolen blankets up to his shoulders, dozing and waking repeatedly, convinced something was amiss. Finally he arose, stepped into the soft flannel trousers, and reached beneath his pillow for his revolver.

Stealthily he prowled the ground floor, searching for intruders. He found only the butler-bot. It was in sleep-mode, but alert the moment he made sufficient noise to awaken it.

"May I help you, Sir?" it inquired.

It sounded like an entirely different 'bot. The almost too respectful tone made Cain's hackles rise.

"Just checking things. Thought I heard a noise."

"I heard nothing, Sir. Might I fetch you a sleeping drought?"

"No thanks." Cain decided he liked the thing better when it was surly.

He considered checking on Lady Agatha. He wondered what she slept in. Something clingy and transparent, her hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders? Or something warmer now that nights were cool, all the more intriguing because it concealed her body? All the more arousing to slowly tease it off, and warm her flesh with his. The idea of finding out appealed more than he should let it.

Chalking up his restlessness to unfamiliar surroundings, he returned to his own quarters. Before he grew accustomed to his bed, it would be time to return to Castle Gale-or not, as the case may be. This topic was even less conducive to sleep than contemplating Lady Agatha's nightwear, and far less pleasant. He rummaged in his carry-all for the small, battered volume he always carried, a gift from Adora, _The Sonnets of Willem Tremblelance_ and carried it to his bed. He opened it at random. Focusing on the exotic speech and soothing rhyme always helped him find tranquility of mind. Eventually, he fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

First Sun had just peeped over the horizon when Cain awoke. A freshening breeze carried the scent of distant snow through a window he'd left open. How odd, he thought, that unicorns bore their young in early autumn rather than spring. Perhaps it was how nature insured survival of the fittest. Only healthy, vigorous 'cornlets withstood the harsh winters of the mountain passes where the species originated. He dressed quickly, in his own clothing this time.

As he opened his door, the aroma of brewing coffee wafted into his room. He followed the fragrant scent into the kitchen, where he found Cassidy busy with morning chores. She showed him to a small worktable in the corner of the kitchen and produced a plate heaped with fried tubers, scrambled eggs, and thick strips of sidemeat. A steaming mug of coffee appeared as if by magic.

Getting Cassidy herself to sit down across from him for a short break took considerable persuasion. Even then, her hands kept busy polishing silverware and folding napkins.

"I've no time for gossip," she'd told him. "You should ask her ladyship, not me."

"Maybe. But you've got the definitive answers."

Playing potential consort to the hilt, Cain complimented Lady Agatha's charms, lauded her determination to keep Unicorn's Leap solvent, and praised her choice of a housekeeper. Flattered, Cassidy became more talkative. When their conversation turned to the butler-bot, she made no bones about her opinion.

"Smythe?" she repeated. She glanced swiftly left then right, making sure they were alone. "There's something fishy about that one, if you ask me."

Fishy? Cain hid a smile. He hadn't heard that term since childhood, when his mother's mischief detector kicked in. Cassidy reminded him so strongly of his mother, questioning her felt disrespectful. With her gray hair in a tidy bun and pleasantly wrinkled face, she looked like anybody's granny. Her severe black uniform, starched white apron, and a ring of keys weighing almost as much as she did, marked the woman as the highest ranked domestic in the household. That she was the only domestic at present seemed not to trouble her in the least.

"I'd as soon put him out mucking the milkmare barn and train up Hom to help in the household! Her ladyship won't hear of it, of course. She says Sir Winston wanted to lessen my workload. Does it look like I need my workload lessened?"

Cain shook his head. The kitchen was spotless, the living areas tidy. Through a window opening onto an overgrown garden, freshly laundered sheets billowed on a clothes-line. From the aroma, a roast for tonight's dinner was already in the oven.

"She's not the one putting up with him creeping about, nosing into things no business of his. And _naming _him! I asked for his password so's I could give him instructions without getting back-sass, and do ye know what the impertinent thing told me?"

Cain shook his head again.

"It told me-actually _told _me-to call it Smythe if I had requests to make. _Requests_!"

Cain frowned, adding Cassidy's remarks to his own impression of the butler-bot. Something, he agreed, was definitely 'fishy'. He made a mental note to check into the 'bot's biolineage. And reminded Cassidy of the Alpha-two command.

"But you trust Hom?" he asked.

"Much as I trust anything that short. He's a mouthy little twerp, but he loves the unicorns."

Cain finished his coffee. "What do you think is happening to the 'cornlets?"

Cassidy sorted through the stacked napkins as if hoping to find an answer hidden within them.

"Ask me what's become of the rug-beater we use twice a year and I'll tell you where to find it. Ask me for a recipe for fresh apple cake, I'll recite one by heart. Show me two lasses as alike as two Pertha grapes and I'll tell you before you can blink which one's the lazybones. But don't ask me what's become of the 'cornlets. It's as if the wee things vanish into thin air."

Next on Cain's agenda this morning was a courtesy call on District Constable Boswell Sedgewick. He got out of Cassidy's way, retrieved the dossier he'd requested on the man, and went to the library, half hoping he'd find Lady Agatha there. The room was empty, the hearth freshly swept.

For a moment Cain stood, gazing at the bunniebear rug. He pictured Lady Agatha reclining on it, wearing an inviting smile and not much else, firelight staining her creamy skin a golden apricot. The image caused a predictable physical reaction.

You've got a job to do, he reminded himself. One possibly as hazardous as any trackdown you've ever undertaken. Focus on that, not images of Lady Agatha melting into your arms.

With a sigh, he turned his attention to the dossier. Early reports showed Sedgewick an able, competent administrator. Reading between the lines, Cain got the impression the former Longcoat had foreseen the corruption of his cohorts and got out before General Lenot took command. Another shrewd guess sent him to Unicorn's Leap, where Lady Agatha's family connections with the House of Gale might offer some immunity to the Sorceress' depredations.

But Sedgewick's Longcoat assignments were all in urban settings. He had little experience with, and no stomach for, policing Unicorn's Leap's rugged terrain. His deputy constables, while drawn from local tradesmen, villagers, and crofters, possessed no significant investigative training.

No wonder 'security forces' never found any sign of the raiders. They didn't know how to search.

Well, Cain knew how. But first he wanted to let Lady Agatha know he'd be away most of the day. It was early, just past Full Suns. He'd probably have to waken her. Which might not be unpleasant, given the heat of last night's kiss. He'd take her something from the kitchen, in case she was grumpy before she breakfasted.

Spotting Smythe opening the drapes in a small room opposite the library, Cain paused to ask what her ladyship customarily ordered.

"Bring it to me in the library and I'll carry it up. Oh, and put a rose or some other nice flower on the tray."

"Her ladyship has already consumed her morning repast," the butler-bot informed him. "She is in the boarding barn, attending chores. She prefers not to be disturbed while exercising the unicorns."

Gone were last night's good manners. Cain was beginning to think the butler-bot had contracted some kind of virus that split his personality chip.

He gave the robot a less than friendly clip on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Smythe. She won't mind me disturbing her."

Tugging on his hat, Cain set off for the stableyard. Damned if he'd ask the butler-bot where to find the boarding barn.

xxxoooxxxoooxxx

"Why, oh, why am I doing this? I could be home, wearing silk gowns and eating petit fives, with maids combing my hair or massaging my feet."

Azkedellia hoisted the pitchfork with all the finesse of an understuffed scarecrow, and watched half its load dribble through the tines before reaching the wheel-barrow.

She even looked like a scarecrow in her aunt's oft-mended cover-all and too-damn-small brogans. A smear of something she didn't want to contemplate made one cheek itch. Her arms ached from the unaccustomed exercise.

So did her derriere. Her aunt rode_ astride_, for Ozma's sake! 'Dellia hadn't ridden anything but sidesaddle since completing her twelfth annual. All this, and Agatha had told her nothing about Cain she didn't already surmise.

Only a handful of 'corns, here for training, occupied the boarding barn. Agatha's own, less pampered, saddle 'corns preferred spending nights in a paddock to being closed up in stalls, thank the gods. One more nasty, smelly stall to go.

She pictured Deegee, who'd be right at home pitching down feed from the loft, shooing the stubborn 'corns out to pasture with a friendly smack on the rump, mucking stalls with a big silly grin on her face. Not Azkedellia.

Lady Agatha might enjoy riding 'corns too lazy to exercise themselves until they both dripped with sweat, then walking them until they cooled off, getting grubby as a woods troll in the process. Not Azkedellia.

Anywhere else, tik-tok minions tended truck gardens, harvested chicken coops, fed and watered livestock without anyone peering over their shoulders. But Azkedellia inspected each nit-picky task, and performed every other ridiculous chore Aggie insisted on doing herself. At least she used tik-toks for milking. Azkedellia shuddered.

She remembered nothing about a compulsion loculus in the illusion spells they'd used as children, but much to her fury, Azkedellia had discovered the spell allowing her to look like Agatha also compelled her to behave like Agatha. After a morning of brutal physical labor, she concluded dear Aunt Agatha had pulled a fast one. When Aggie got back she'd-

"Let me do that."

The words came from just behind her left ear, along with an exhalation of warm male breath. Azkedellia almost lost the illusion from shock. She pivoted, pitchfork at the ready.

"Cain! Don't sneak up like that! I might have put this right through your heart."

"Not the way you handle it. You're lucky you haven't run it through your foot."

In fact, earlier, she'd narrowly missed doing exactly that.

Cain removed the pitchfork from her hand, letting his fingers linger on hers as he did so. With practiced ease he lofted a pile of soiled straw into the barrow.

"I don't get it, Lady Agatha. You're not cut out for this kind of work. Why are you doing it yourself? Why isn't Hom helping?"

_Because I so enjoy shoveling muck, and the wonderful aromas one encounters in a stable. _"He's watching the breeding herd, trying to discover what's happening to the 'cornlets. There's no one else to help."

"You've got tik-toks standing around idle you could program to do barn chores."

The tik-toks shut themselves down when they finished milking. She'd already tried to reprogram them, but couldn't. She didn't dare admit she didn't know Agatha's password.

"The tik-toks tend the milkmares. Unicorns don't like them."

"The 'corns are all out to pasture."

"The 'corns smell them when they return to the barn. It makes them restless."

Cain heaved another forkload into the barrow. She was about to ask why he wasn't searching for land pirates rather than making a pest of himself, when she saw a twinkle appear in his eye.

"Well, your ladyship, if this 'suitor' becomes your bonded consort, all that's gonna change. You'll have more important duties demanding your personal attention these chilly mornings."

Azkedellia's knees went weak as images flashed through her mind: Cain, naked, flat on his back. Herself gazing down at his hard-muscled torso…. Damn Agatha for coming up with the suitor ruse. And double-damn Cain for going along with it.

"Is. That. So."

Another flawless loft of the pitchfork.

"Mmm-hum-mm-m."

Blast the man! He sounded like he was savoring a few mental images of his own. He wasn't supposed to get involved with Agatha, just pretend to.

"It's too bad you've already sworn service to Palace Gale. I might consider accepting you. On a trial basis, of course." _Take that!_

"Trial basis. Does that mean either party can nullify if the other proves…unsatisfactory?"

He expected a flirtatious comeback. Something like "That's why most Potentials try each other out," or "You don't look like you'd be disappointing…." Instead, she almost slapped him. Cain saw the flash in those green-gold eyes, the sudden clench of her jaw, the flexing of her fingers.

He hadn't meant to hit a nerve. He was only teasing, the way a genuine suitor might. Or so he thought. He hadn't flirted in a very long time.

"Sorry. I guess I should've posed as a dancing master after all."

"Either way, you'd still have trouble with those feet."

Cain scooped the last bits of straw into the barrow, hung up the pitchfork, then grabbed the barrow's handles. He made balancing the unwieldy conveyance look easy as he headed for the barn doors. Azkedellia trailed after him.

Over his shoulder Cain said, "I'm going to scout the villages today and see what I can find out. If your Munchkin shows up, keep him here until I get back."

xxxoooxxxoooxxx

Smythe watched the ground-car depart, making certain it turned and continued on at the end of the drive. The 'suitor' would probably be gone for some time. Hom was nowhere to be seen. Now was a perfect opportunity to smuggle another milkmare into the caverns.

He made his way to the butler's pantry, casting a wary glance for Cassidy as he passed through the kitchen. The powders in her tea leaves made her drowsy and less alert, but she still was a threat.

Hostile from the moment she'd laid eyes on him, she silently watched and waited. In most household chains-of-command, butlers outranked housekeeper-cooks. Not here. Here he must perform whatever task she assigned, and she took delight in finding the most humiliating chores. He had no choice, if he didn't want to be sent off for re-programming. Fortunately, he'd grown quite adept at setting the genuine butler-bot to perform the duties he considered most demeaning, and stand in for him when he was away.

In the butler's pantry, he transformed his appearance to that of the tik-toks which cared for the milkmares, wakened the stand-in, then hurried off to the pasture where the milkmares grazed.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Moving milkmares to the caverns above South Valley was no chore for the impatient, as Smythe had learned with the first mare he stole. Nor for someone trying to accomplish the task at speeds beyond a snail's pace. Neither bribe nor beating induced the generally acquiescent beasts to climb the rocky, crumbling path corkscrewing up from the valley floor. Moreover, the trip alone encompassed several hours. Thus, the original Butler-bot, whose place he had assumed, proved exceedingly useful whenever Smythe needed to leave the stronghold. Now that Winston Radcliff had been disposed of, no one even suspected Smythe might possess a double.

Removing the mare he'd chosen from the pasture, however, was simple. Milkmares were used to tik-toks, and unlike unicorns, trusted them. He'd been slipping this one treats for several days. When he opened the gate and whistled, she came straight to him.

Changing his form to mimic the black destriers Longcoat cavalry rode, Smythe set off for the valley. Traveling in equine form proved far swifter than bipedal walking, but the mare needed constant chivvying to keep her moving at a clumsy trot. Milkmares weren't designed to keep pace with fleet-footed destriers, particularly when their udders bulged with milk. He'd kept her from this morning's milking. She grunted with discomfort with every step.

Their less than rapid pace allowed Smythe to address the issue of the missing Lady Agatha. She had disappeared…the same day the broom-rider arrived. He should have made the connection long before. Now he realized he'd never observed the visitor depart, although her broom was nowhere to be seen. Did Lady Agatha ride off on it?

Given his own ability to shape-shift, it was not inconceivable, was, in fact, very likely the visitor-from the little of their conversation he overheard Lady Agatha's distant kin-had assumed Lady Agatha's appearance and identity.

With Lady Agatha's consent, or without? A good question, but not in critical need of an answer. Her absence, while puzzling, was a boon. The imposter would never notice a missing milkmare. Her ladyship would spot the discrepancy in a nanosecond.

The first mares he'd stolen, Lady Agatha attributed to land pirate depredations, and purchased replacements. She wouldn't be so nonchalant about losing yet another, almost from under the nose of her so-called suitor. And the Tin Man would consider the loss a personal affront. With Lady Agatha gone, he'd never know. Smythe gave an equine snort of derision.

When they reached the goat path to the caverns, Smythe resumed his tik-tok guise. From a pouch inside his tunic, he removed a flacon containing a greenish liquid, and a length of black cloth. He poured some of the liquid-the same concoction he used to pacify mother she'corns-onto his fingers and rubbed it onto the mare's nose. He watched as her muscles quivered then grew still. Her eyelids drooped. She swished her tail listlessly at a fly. Good. Too much soporific made them too groggy to walk.

He tied the cloth over the milkmare's eyes, then tugged on her halter. Meekly, she followed him up a trail no equine in its right mind would ever set hoof on.

* * *

District Constable Roswell Sedgewick, graying and pudgy, but none-the-less natty in his green and black uniform and spit-polished boots, ushered Wyatt Cain into his office and offered coffee.

"We've tried our best to find those yay-hoos," he said after introductions and handshakes, and Cain revealed his mission. "I had a man fly a balloon in and carry me aloft for a look-see. But Unicorn's Leap covers a lot of territory. Even with a full company of Longcoats I'd need weeks to run them down. I do my best, but I've got other responsibilities."

Yeah, Cain thought, the town's positively overrun with renegade Quadlings and runaway scarecrows. He hoped his irritation didn't show.

Sedgewick had grown soft and lazy with indifference. Or he might be taking a pay-off to look the other way. Regardless, antagonizing the man wouldn't further his cooperation.

"So, you don't mind if I do some nosing around?"

"Hell no, I don't mind! Been thinking of sending for a Tin Man anyway. It's a shame Lady Agatha's losing stock. She's a fine doyenne and deserves better."

Cain leaned a hip against Sedgwick's desk and folded his arms. "Any idea who's behind this? Why they picked her demesne for their hide-out?" Apart from the fact the local constabulary is a disgrace.

"Well, my own theory is, they were harvesters. You T-men probably don't know much about unicorns, but there's always a black market for their horns."

Cain knew only too well. Powdered unicorn horn was sold as a cure for impotence. Processed from deceased 'corns, the powder was available at any well-stocked apothecary. It seldom worked. The black market variety-routinely counterfeited from milkmares' hooves or goat horns-supposedly came from horn ripped by the roots from a living unicorn. The process was outlawed decades ago and carried the death penalty, but still occurred when the price was right.

"And you think they_"

Cain couldn't bring himself to voice his thought. He'd seen 'corns that had suffered de-horning, watched them sicken and slowly die. Not even Healers could save them.

"But it's not the adults she's losing," Cain said. "If it's harvesters, why aren't there any carcasses? What's happening to the 'cornlets that disappear?"

Sedgewick looked blank. "Can't answer that one, Tin Man. Far as I'm concerned, the pirates got what they wanted and moved on. There haven't been any raids reported in oh, two, maybe three weeks. If lady Agatha's losing 'cornlets, maybe the rumors are true. The bloodline's corrupted."

He leaned toward Cain and sp9ke in a conspiratorial whisper. "Say, is it true someone's paying court to her? I'd've made her an offer myself if I didn't' have to spend most of my days riding herd on the district, so to speak."

Amazing, how fast rumors got around, Cain thought as he left the D.C.'s office. Cassidy's nieces had spread the word as rapidly as Lady Agatha expected. Deciding to resume his role of suitor and help spread those rumors, he next set out to speak with the crofters nearest the village.

The crofters were few and far between. Those he found working close to their cottages proved unwilling to discuss anything with 'Lady Agatha's lover', as gossip already had him pegged. After several such snubbing, Cain returned his badge to his vest before approaching another cottage.

An old man in work-worn overalls and a straw hat was trimming a goat's hooves when Cain drove into the barnyard. A shaggy farmdog raced around the corner of the cottage, barking furiously. Cain waited until the crofter called the dog away before stepping from his vehicle and introducing himself.

"Tin Man, huh," the crofter said in a thick country accent. "About time one-a you show up." He released the goat, dusted his hands together, then wiped them with a wrinkled kerchief before offering to shake.

"I'm here now. What can you tell me?"

"These raider-they are the joke. They ride up, make the threat, shoot the gun, never hit nothing." The old man cackled. "Use the pitchfork on them-poof! The fly off like flock of frighten bird. Leave their leader to cover their escape."

"Do they ever actually take anything? Do more than make noise?"

"Sometime we lose the lamb, the fat hen from the coop, but could be bunniebear or outcast papay taking. Sometime the leader he set fire to haystack, then steal old pipe, other junk from scrap heap. Those coward_" The old man spat on the ground. "_mostly they come, make the nuisance, then run away."

"Huh. What about tracks? Anyone ever follow them?"

The old man scratched his chin. "Don' know about that. Only track we see is that of leader. Too much trouble to follow if they take nothing. You ask in village. Maybe raider do better where nobody carry the pitchfork."

Learning the raiders sometimes struck the village came as a surprise. Sedgewick hadn't said a word about it.

Back in the village, nursing a brew at the Red Garter Tavern, Cain casually questioned the bartender and a handful of kibitzing customers.

Except for their leader, he learned, the raiders caused little damage. Under a hail of gunfire and fireballs that sent everyone ducking for cover, the leader helped himself to grain from the feed store, or odds and ends from the mercantile, or herbs and powders from the apothecary, then vanished in a cloud of dust.

"Damn poor shots," the town barber said. "Never even manage to break a window. Not that I'm complaining."

"Now that you mention it," a young man wearing a fire-warden's badge said, "I don't think my team's been called out more than once or twice to douse a blaze after a raid. You'd think with all the fireballs dropping, there'd be flame-ups all over town."

After interviewing several more witnesses, Cain felt certain only the land pirate's leader was anything but a hologram, his henchmen projected by one of those new portable TDESPHTI devices. The old crofter's description of the raiders now made perfect sense. The pitchfork slicing through the projected beam would make images seem to fly apart like birds scattering in fright.

One more reason the security teams never found any sign. They were looking for a large band when only the leader was real. Now beset with a greater puzzle than when he started, Cain headed back to the stronghold.

* * *

Hom watched the milkmares trudge into their stanchions and almost sigh with relief as tik-tok milkers went to work. Ten mares in stanchions, nine awaiting their turns_no. That wasn't right. The Munchkin counted noses again. Nine waiting. Should be ten. Someone didn't come in. Another count indicated the missing nose belonged to Bess, one of their best producers. She _never _failed to come in.

Trotting as fast as his bandy legs and his limp allowed, Hom set off to the milkmares' pasture, a large open field with a scattering of shade trees. Anything the size of a milkmare should be obvious, even if she were down. The pasture was empty. Unless the old gal lost her mind and leaped the fence, someone had let her out.

They had lost three other mares, presumably to land pirates, though Hom saw no logical reason for such a theft. Milkmares were good for one thing: milk. So far as he knew, pirates didn't drink milk, so why steal not one but four? In any event, something was suspicious about Bess going missing. And while he was hardly an expert tracker, checking the pasture gates might at least indicate the direction she'd taken. Following her trail wouldn't be too difficult, either. She had hooves the size of dinner plates.

Four gates were set in the pasture fence, one on each side of the rectangular enclosure. Hom ignored the gate opening from the milkshed yard. A depression worn under the first gate he checked showed no recent sign of any equine passing through. But the next displayed a jigsaw puzzle of curious tracks. Bess' on both sides of the gate. Shoe prints-city shoes, not work boots, even Hom could see that. Strangest of all, a second set of hoof prints. Too small for milkstock, too large for a straying unicorn. Destrier, maybe, Hom thought, but unshod.

The shoe prints led toward the pasture gate. The unshod hooves and Bess' tracks led away. From the looks of it, City Shoes managed to mount Unshod and ride off, driving Bess. But how did Unshod arrive without leaving a trail to mark his way in? Hom scratched his topknot, but no answers magically appeared.

It was growing late. Leaving the hoof print riddle unsolved, Hom started back to the lodge to report his finding.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

When Cain reached the stronghold, it was nearing Last Sun. Thinking of the roast Cassidy had been fixing earlier made his mouth water. Thinking of another evening in Lady Agatha's proximity made…other juices simmer.

There was no need to continue their role-playing. Everyone in town and throughout the countryside believed her ladyship was seeking a new consort, and the blond fellow asking nosy questions was a hot prospect.

Yeah, hot prospect. Cain snorted, irritated that the thought failed to annoy him as much as it should. Irritated that thoughts of Lady Agatha had intruded throughout the day, making his investigation a patchwork of related and unrelated conclusions a rookie T-man could have bettered.

Most of all, irritated that to be honest, he would enjoy spending another evening pretending to court Lady Agatha.

He parked the ground car beside a huge six-wheeled "U-Dub" or utility wagon. He spotted Lady Agatha near the milking shed, speaking with a diminutive male clad in a worn gray tunic and knee-high boots. A top-knot tied with a braided blue cord marked him a member of the Blue Moss clan. Ground dwellers. The Munchkin, Hom, no doubt. He was waving his arms as if emphasizing a point. Cain strolled over to join them.

As he walked, he saw Lady Agatha's arms fold over her bosom and her chin lower. Cain stopped in his tracks. Thinking back, he recalled Glitch saying Lady Agatha was _his _aunt, only called Aunt by the princesses when they were young, but he'd seen Azkedellia adopt an identical pose when annoyed.

He got himself moving again, in time to hear Hom say, "She's one of our best milkers!"

"She's probably…off somewhere. Doing whatever milkmares do this time of day."

The Munchkin flushed red to the tips of his ears, but managed to keep his tone civil. "This is no time for joking. What they do this time of day is come in for milking. As your ladyship well knows."

Or ought to, Cain mused. Was her ladyship nipping that sweet cider this early in the day? Was he paying court to a dipsomaniac?

Just a ruse, Tin Man, he reminded himself. You're not really paying court to anyone.

He reached Lady Agatha's side and settled a possessive hand on her waist. He felt her start, then relax against him.

"Here you are," she said. "I was beginning to wonder if I should ask Cassidy to delay dinner. Mr. Cain, this is Hom. You wanted to speak with him. Hom, Mr. Cain. He's staying with us for a time."

"Hom," Cain said and offered his hand.

The Munchkin ignored him. All but stamping his foot, he said, "If I don't look for Bess tonight, we might never find her."

"What happened?" Cain asked. "Who's Bess?"

"Nothing of any consequence. A milkmare late for evening milking. I apologize for Hom's bad manners. Hom, go search if you feel that strongly. When you've found her, return to the Great Hall. Mr. Cain has some questions to ask you."

The Munchkin took off like a shot, disappearing before Cain could draw breath to countermand Lady Agatha's instructions. He'd bet the Munchkin had some reason other than a lost mare for ducking interrogation. He doubted they'd see him any more tonight, if ever again.

Not that it mattered so much now, with the information he'd uncovered in town.

Lady Agatha tucked her hand through his arm and turned him toward the Great Hall. "I need to freshen up before we dine," she said. "I'll ask Cassidy to serve in half an hour." 

The door banged behind Hom as he stormed into the kitchen. "Who's the gink sniffing after her ladyship?"

Glaring, Cassidy pushed herself up from the worktable. "How many times must I tell you not to let that door slam? And keep your vulgarism in the stables or I'll wash your mouth out with soap."

"So who is _he_, then?"

"Friend of her ladyship. Courting her, if you ask me."

"Courting! I thought she was all gaa-gaa over the kid who bought her fillies. Why's she getting so chummy with this one?"

"It's none of your business. Did you want something Hom? I've a dinner to finish preparing."

Hom studied the housekeeper. She looked haggard, older in just the past few weeks. He hoped she wasn't ill. For all her scolding, she had a kind heart. And fed him well.

"I need a bite now and something to carry with me. One of the milkmares is gone and I'm going to look for her."

"You? You'll get lost, too, before you've gone thirty paces."

Hom stuck out his tongue, but Cassidy was right. A city dweller for most of his life, he lacked his wild-born cousins' instinct for navigating the hinterland. And while he had lived at Unicorn's Leap for better than ten annuals, he still often lost his way if tasks forced him off maintained roads or well-marked pathways. He wished the twins were here to help search.

Moving with obvious lethargy, Cassidy fixed Hom a plate of sliced roast, string beans, and baked squash, then put bread and cheese into a knapsack. Hom made short work of his plate, shouldered the knapsack, and set off, hoping to follow Bess's trail by glowtorch light.

* * *

"I can't bluff my way through another dinner," Azkedellia told Lady Agatha's image in the mirror. "I'll give myself away. The man asks question after question, and I haven't the vaguest idea of the answers."

Her ladyship's image returned her gaze, mute as stone.

"I don't suppose I can claim to have a headache and ask for a tray in my room."

Nor did she want to. She wanted to sit opposite Cain without fear someone would notice how her eyes lingered on his face, followed the movements of his hands. She wanted to make small talk, not discuss politics as she must at Palace Gale. Learn what Cain thought about ice cream, the OZ's newest food fad. Ask if he'd seen any interesting stage plays. As Lady Agatha she could do that and more, if only the Tin Man would stop being a Tin Man.

"Distraction…," Azkedellia murmured. Something to change the focus of his all-business mind.

The superficial chitchat she managed so adroitly at Court was useless here. Her experiences with men while enslaved to the Witch left her skilled in bed, but little practiced at charming unpretentious, guileless men like Cain. Flirting, Deegee called it. Last night had been a resounding flop.

But that was before he kissed her. Last night's kiss had demonstrated he wasn't entirely immune to seduction. Perhaps tonight he would be more easily influenced. Certainly she'd fantasized often enough about seducing the stoic Tin Man. Aggie's ruse provided the perfect opportunity to try. If she failed….

"At least he'll never know it was I whom he spurned."

So she'd wear something enticing. She opened Aggie's wardrobe and uttered a soft sigh. There wasn't much to choose from. Nothing truly seductive, no peek-a-boo lace, nothing with translucent inserts_

"Wait a moment. What's this?"

Something red had fallen into a dark corner. Azkedellia fished it out and gave a delighted whoop when she saw what she'd discovered.

"Oh, Aunt Agatha, who would have guessed?"

Corsets were commonplace garments. Most OZian women from the slenderest teen-maiden to the stoutest matron wore them every waking moment. Properly fitted, they supported a woman's spine as well as her bosom, and made the thickest waistline appear shapely.

This, however, was no everyday undergarment. Black lace trimmed the red brocade bodice. Stiffened cups would push the breasts together and thrust them up into deliciously enticing mounds. It would be utterly miserable to wear. It laced down the back, making it all but impossible to put on without assistance. Discarding it at the proper moment might or might not prove gratifying. So far, no impatient lover had taken a blade to the strings. Imagining Cain using his ever-present razor to do just that made her knees go weak.

A little judicious snooping unearthed a matching garter belt and black stockings so sheer they might have been spun from fairyfloss. 'Dellia brushed the silken hose against her cheek. The last known Floss Fairy had died several decades ago.

"Aggie, Aggie, you've been holding out on me."

She took a moment to picture herself wearing the ensemble. Definitely Sin Center material, she thought, and smiled. Still, she couldn't guess whether Cain would find red and black enticing or just the opposite. Better not to take the chance. Not yet.

She set the garments aside and resumed her search.

The flaming orange gown she'd borrowed last night was the best Agatha's wardrobe had to offer. Cain's eyes had revealed how much he liked it. Not that she could wear it two nights in a row. She could conjure something, she supposed.

"Ha. Silly me."

At Palace Gale were dozens of gowns Cain had never seen. Would never suspect they belonged to anyone but Lady Agatha.

She found a small hand-mirror, recited the incantation that turned it into a scrying glass, and through it began searching her collection.

Apporting only one of the three gowns she wanted made the illusion of Lady Agatha waver sickeningly. 'Dellia squeezed her eyes shut against the nausea. Simple illusion spells usually weren't so unstable. Possibly because ordinarily the 'original' remained in close proximity to the duplicate. Who knew where Agatha had gone gallivanting off to. She'd have to exercise caution when using magic. Too much energy drain and the spell would collapse like a punctured hot-air balloon.

She'd make do with the one gown she'd apported, and change Aggie's flame colored dress to a different hue for tomorrow. An alert courtesan might suspect what she'd done, but Cain would never notice.

The gown was a confection of light and dark lilac. The dark bodice, shot through with silver sparkles, criss-crossed in front, forming a deep vee that offered a generous view of her bosom. A pale, see-through stole could be draped to counterfeit modesty. Cascading layers of the same gossamer fabric formed the skirt. The entire outfit looked so delicate a careless breath would fragment it like dandetiger puffs.

A flick of the wrist flung matching petti-drawers into limbo. She hated petti-drawers. Styled like crotchless pantaloons, they offered little protection against chafing and all too often complicated attending to natural functions. She'd wager her last emerald Glenda-the-Good invented the cumbersome things.

She braided her hair and coiled the braid atop her head the better to show off her neckline, then added the unicorn ivory pendant, adjusted so, if her curves failed to draw Cain's eye, the jewel would lead his gaze directly to her cleavage. And perhaps take his mind off land pirates!

* * *

"So it seems likely," Cain concluded, "your band of land pirates is a single, very clever individual."

He pushed aside his dessert plate with the slice of pie half eaten. As delicious as the roast beef must have been, as certain as he was Cassidy's apple pie tasted better than ambrosia, he might as well have sampled sawdust and lawn-clippings. Lady Agatha's dinner dress made concentrating on a man's meal impossible.

Cain knew nothing about fabric beyond choosing something tough and durable for his own clothing, and admiring certain less-durable types on women. This was definitely less durable.

His mind had captured and constantly replayed the image of Lady Agatha descending the stairs in high-heeled sandals, her skirt floating around her ankles as she crossed the room. A glowlight on the opposite wall had silhouetted her legs. Adora would have insisted on wearing something underneath to preserve a woman's modesty, but if there was anything beneath the gauzy skirt besides Agatha herself, he'd eat his hat.

"But why?" Lady Agatha asked, jolting his attention back to the present. "What does he do with the things he takes, and why is he stealing unicorns?"

"Sedgwick thinks he's a harvester-"

"What? Oh, Cain, no. That can't be!" Lady Agatha leaped to her feet. Before Cain could rise, the butler-bot was behind her, steadying her chair.

"Take it easy," Cain said. "I'm not so sure Sedgwick's right. For one thing, there aren't any carcasses." She flinched. Cain rounded the table, took her hand, and led her to the doors opening onto the terrace. "For another, harvesters don't want 'cornlets. I think someone's taking yours, doctoring them to appear Golden, and selling them as such."

"It's illegal to trade in unicorns without a license."

"If you're a legitimate broker, a Breeder like yourself, yes. If not…." He shrugged. The black market had been around longer than the OZ itself, and would continue long after civilization crumbled. Cain opened the door and guided Agatha outside.

"If that's so, why haven't we heard rumors of Goldens for sale_Goldens that prove to be mundane?"

"Lots of reasons. No one wants to admit he's been conned. Or to buying a 'corn illegally, having forged papers. Or our 'pirate' may be selling them in the Inner Territories. We never hear much from them."

A freshening breeze swept across the terrace and pushed thin masses of cloud over the face of the moon. Agatha gathered her stole more snugly about her shoulders.

"It's turning cool," Cain said, wishing something would cool him. "Do you need a warmer wrap?"

"I'll be fine if it doesn't rain." 

You no longer need fear water, Azkedellia reminded herself. Agatha probably reveled in rain showers. But old habits died hard. "Let's walk to the gazebo," she added. "It's not very far."

They strolled toward a white structure set a few paces beyond the terraces.

"My question," said Cain, "is how he does it. Everyone knows you can't take a 'cornlet away from its mother without one hell of a fight. Snatching one from under a herdsire's horn is suicidal. Why hasn't yours intervened?"

Azkedellia bristled. "What makes you think he hasn't tried?"

"That's just it. Someone has outsmarted or outmaneuvered your herdsire for two seasons. We need to know how. I've heard Keepers have a sort of…mind link with their herdsires. Hasn't yours given you any hints?"

_Why yes of course. He gossips with me daily. Tells me all his secrets. _'Dellia hid clenched fists in the folds of her gown. She should never, ever, have agreed to this ruse.

It did seem strange, however, that Aggie's herdsire hadn't given her a better indication of what was happening. Perhaps in her haste to join her lover, she'd neglected to pass the information along. Damn Aggie and her scheming. Now she had to make something up.

"Unfortunately, the mind link is a myth. Oh, it might be true for Goldens, but Hamlet is mundane." There, she thought smugly, and I didn't even have to lie.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

As they walked, the breeze tugged and tossed Azkedellia's gown, lifting the gauzy skirt halfway up her thighs. Laughing, she pushed it down, but not before allowing Cain a good look at her long, slender legs. The cool air caressed her like the stroke of a knowing hand.

Beside her, Cain's body radiated heat. While not a large man like Toto, he was strong and exquisitely muscled. She'd seen him stripped down for combat, sparring with Glitch or some of the cockier guards who thought they could take the measure of an aging Tin Man. An image of how he might look naked had formed in her mind and hovered temptingly before her now.

Her own skin burned, demanding to be free of the silk and gauze hiding it from Cain's sultry blue gaze. Her nipples ached for the touch of his fingers. His tongue.

The gazebo floor creaked as they entered. His arms came around her and she melted against him. His mouth found hers. His kiss was hot and hungry, his lips firm and dry. His tongue glided slowly, oh, so slowly over her lower lip. She moaned. She couldn't help herself. 

"Agatha…."

The little sound she made, low in her throat, ignited a fire within Cain. He felt his defenses weakening, the wall barricading his emotions start to crumble. Another time he would have backed off. Resisted. Suddenly, it didn't matter. If it were only a response to Siren glamour, her Siren blood heating his, so be it. He found her mouth again.

Her tongue moved sinuously over his, tempting him to take whatever he wanted. He wanted it all. To hold her, taste her, possess her. His body felt heavy, alive to her slightest touch. She was so warm, her breasts pressing his chest so sweetly he could scarcely keep his hands from taking liberties a Tin Man on duty had no business even considering.

"Cain…please…make love to me."

The whispered words roared through Cain's mind, setting his thoughts ablaze. For a moment, he forgot to breathe. Deep within, his blood thickened and pulsed, became a river of lava. If she wasn't the woman he yearned for, she was nonetheless exquisitely desirable.

He had so little to offer in return. A few hours of pleasure. Two, maybe three more nights until he resolved the issue here and departed. She deserved better. But didn't he deserve something, too? Any man who'd turn down what she so generously offered was a damned fool.

He pressed his mouth to her neck, the sensitive spot beneath her ear. He drew deeply on the tender flesh. She was so soft. Her fragrance in his nostrils, her taste on her tongue, her low murmurs of pleasure had made him achingly hard.

"You're sure?" he said, and felt like a dolt the moment the words left his mouth.

Her gaze seemed almost worshipful in the tricky, on-again, off-again moonlight.

"Since the moment I laid eyes on you." 

Azkedellia flicked her fingers to set an avoidance spell. Anyone approaching the gazebo would wander off in another direction, not noticing someone was there. Their words, her cries, his shout of release would travel to no ears but their own.

"Aggie…," he murmured.

_Oh, please,_ Azkedellia, _not Aggie!_

She wrenched her mind away from forming the words that would end the illusion hiding her identity. Reverting to her true self now would drive Cain away in the blink of an eye.

He took her face between his palms and slanted his mouth over hers. Every hormone in her body caught flame. Never had she been more aroused, never more aware of a man as a man. She tasted his tongue, hot and spear-like. He gathered her closer, his body lean and hard_oh, so hard_against hers. Her breasts pressed his chest. She moaned, frustrated by the fabric stopping her skin from meeting his.

He drew her tighter, teasing her with his tongue, pressing his sex against her stomach, letting her feel his desire. He was generously, wonderfully endowed, and fiercely aroused. She pressed back, gently rolling against him, wordlessly acknowledging her own hunger.

His mouth left hers and traced her jaw line with tiny sparks of kisses. He found her earlobe and nibbled. His hand closed on her breast. She couldn't stop her gasp of both surprise and pleasure. He was far bolder than she expected. And far from bold enough. She dropped her stole, reached between them, and tugged the bodice aside.

The cool, damp air made her nipples hard even before Cain's fingers captured one sensitive tip. The gentle pressure sent a shockwave straight to her core. She felt her moisture surface in anticipation.

His mouth had trailed down her neck, sucking gently, rhythmically, as he fondled her nipple. His breath was hot and came faster than a few moments ago. She couldn't wait, couldn't stand it another moment if he didn't_

His fingers shifted to the underside of her breast, lifting it as he lowered his mouth to engulf the turgid peak. She strained against him, gasping as another shock of sensation whipped through her.

Cain lifted his mouth. His voice was a deep rumble. "Did I hurt you? I didn't know you'd be so sensitive."

"It took me by surprise, is all."

"Do you want me to stop?"

She drew back, giving him a look that made his balls swell. "Are you moonstruck?"

"If I am, it's from kissing you. Don't you know how hot you make me?"

"Perhaps you simply have on too many clothes." 

Maybe we both do, Cain thought. He was dismayed at the magnitude of his desire. But this wasn't at all where he would have chosen to undress the lovely Lady Agatha.

He glanced around. They were alone. The entire stronghold seemed deserted. Where Hom was, he couldn't guess. Cassidy was long abed, the maids gone even longer. That left Smythe, and he didn't much care if the damned butler-bot did happen on them.

"Let's find out."

He bent to slip his shoes off. While he was at it, he removed Agatha's high-heel sandals, pausing to caress the arch of each foot and glide his palm up the back of her calves to her knees.

He straightened and shrugged out of his shirt. The air felt cool sliding past his shoulders, over his chest. He enjoyed being naked out-of-doors. A swimming hole would make this setting perfect. Agatha's gown would probably dissolve like candypuff if he coaxed her into the water still wearing it. Even if it didn't, it would cling like a shadow to her body's every curve and hollow.

Something rustled and when he looked, Lady Agatha stood before him, wearing only the unicorn necklace and a stray beam of cloud-shrouded moonlight.

Her skin was luminous, her breasts high and full, her nipples so hard that when he touched them, she whimpered. Her gaze traveled over him, so intent he almost felt it. He stood motionless, letting her examine him, stifling a foolish urge to flex his muscles and pose for her.

Her eyes grew wide when her gaze found the puckered scar where he took a bullet those last dreadful minutes before Deegee and Azkedellia exorcised the Witch.

"Oh, Cain, your shoulder_"

"It's nothing. I don't even feel it now."

He couldn't decide what to touch, what to kiss, what to suckle next. Before he could make up his mind, her palm pressed his breastbone and seared a path straight to his belly, skimming his naval and coming to rest on his shaft. His knees almost buckled.

With his hands on her bottom he walked her backward until they reached the padded bench encircling the inner gazebo wall. She lowered herself, and he knelt on the floor between her knees. He reached for his belt. Agatha's fingers were already there, struggling with the buckle, working it open. Taking her own sweet time about it, too, touching, caressing as if by accident.

She unbuttoned his fly, lowered the zipper and eased his trousers down his thighs.

Her warm breath brushed his groin as she slipped his underdrawers down, freeing him. Then her hand slid the length of him, settled around him. He pushed into her hand, craving the feel of her surrounding him.

His hands glided up her ribs and cupped the rounded weight of each breast. He had forgotten how delightful a woman's breast felt when cuddled in his palm. His thumbs feathered over her nipples, coaxing the sensitive flesh to rigid excitement.

"You smell so good," he murmured. Her fragrance made his senses swim. 

Azkedellia couldn't answer. His own scent, testosterone-laden and arousal-enhanced, made her feel dizzy, and a bit moonstruck, herself. His expression was anything but that of someone merely pretending to be her lover. His eyes flamed with desire, the irises thin blue rims surrounding obsidian pupils. Her entire body burned from his nearness. The strength and power of his arms made her feel utterly feminine. She reveled in it. She laid her hands on his forearms, tracing the scars, wishing she could erase them, erase the pain he'd suffered.

They had kissed, but not like this, with the hot, hot skin of his chest scorching her bare breasts, the scratchy, coarse chest hair teasing her nipples. His hands slowly explored her spine until he round the sweet point above her coccyx where sensation blasted through her body at his touch.

She clung to him. Never had she been more aware of a man as a man. Azkedellia was far from inexperienced. The Witch had used her body, to gain cooperation, to enthrall, to simply pleasure herself. But Cain was the first man she'd chosen for herself. No other made her feel she would die if she couldn't touch his skin. No other made her burn at the thought of having him inside her.

Cain did. It took her breath away.

"You're beautiful," she said, her voice a whisper. 

Cain knew that wasn't true. He didn't have a matinee idol's polished good looks, the scar on his shoulder was one of many marring his body, and if anyone looked closely, they'd see more than a few silver strands grizzling his hair. Still, the words heartened him.

He chuckled. "I think _I_'m supposed to say that."

"Say it."

"You're beautiful."

As he spoke, something stirred inside Cain. He wasn't sure what. And whatever it was, it had no business poking its head up now. This was more than just getting laid, but it wasn't, he reminded himself firmly, about finding a lifemate. He quashed the stirring and focused on the throbbing between his legs. On the woman-scent drifting from the apex of Agatha's thighs. He was so hard for her, he ached.

He was about to voice some concerns about the gazebo's lack of furnishings when around him the air shimmered, and the bunniebear rug from the library appeared on the gazebo floor. Apparently Lady Agatha had indulged in a few fantasies, too. He hoped he wouldn't disappoint her. He stood, drawing her to her feet.

"It's been a while since I…." He met her eyes, finding unexpected warmth and concern in Agatha's gaze. "Once I'm inside you, I'm not gonna last."

"It doesn't matter. But maybe with practice…?"

She sounded so wistful he laughed outright. When he tugged her hand to lead her to the rug, the forgotten trousers hobbled him. He sprawled backward, dragging her down with him. She laughed, using their tumble to tug off the last of his clothing and check him for injuries_oh, yes, _that _definitely was badly swollen. He liked her laugh. It found and filled empty spaces in his being he had forgotten existed. 

Azkedellia didn't know what to expect when Cain positioned himself against her spine, his chest pressing her shoulders, his groin against her buttocks. When his erection nudged at the juncture of her thighs, she opened for him and felt his shaft slide across her, back to front.

Velvety softness over what felt like steel nuzzled her clit, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure sweeping through her. He spread her wider with a hand on her knee. She felt terribly exposed but at the same time wildly excited. She gave a short gasp when he found her opening, another as he pressed inside, stretching and filling her.

_Ohgods, Cain!_

His hand left her knee and captured her wrist. "Touch me, Agatha. I want you to feel me take you."

Already aware of little beyond his hardness, she knew perfectly well it was Cain-Cain-ohgods, Cain! deep inside her. All the same, she let him guide her hand, heard his breath hitch as her fingers curled around him.

Cain groaned as her fingers tightened. She was hot and wet, and her body gripped him fiercely as he thrust. He was certain no man had ever taken her this way. She uttered the most satisfying cries as he touched, stroked, thrust. He moved faster as he felt pleasure coiling, tightening, building in his loins.

His mouth found the sensitive place on her neck. As his teeth closed he felt her shudder and arch in his arms, heard her cry out in ecstasy, then felt the riptide of release pound over him.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

The following morning when Azkedellia awakened, much to her disappointment no ardent suitor lay beside her, distracting her from Agatha's morning chores. She hadn't really expected to find Cain there. He had escorted her from the gazebo to the door of Agatha's boudoir, kissed her good night, and gone to his own quarters for what remained of the night. A Tin Man was a Tin Man. Last night was last night, without promises or futures.

But Cain had not abandoned her with indifference. He had raided the flower garden and entered her room without waking her, leaving on the unused pillow beside her a fresh-cut sprig of Ruby Slipper.

Sitting up, she held the sprig close to her face and sniffed the delicate aroma emanating from the tiny slipper-shaped blossoms. She wondered if Cain realized what his offering signified. While anything but a polished court sophisticate, he must know what this particular blossom represented. "Slipper" might mean one thing to those from the Other Side, but in the language of OZian flowers it was an euphemism for vagina.

Whispering "May I try on milady's slipper?" was a circumspect request for intercourse. The reply, "Indeed, Sir, I fear it would never fit," could be interpreted two ways, and woe unto the male who mistook rebuff for a compliment on the size of his anatomy.

Presenting a woman with this blossom following a night in her arms meant she had given her lover an experience surpassing anything he might have imagined. She had never suspected Cain possessed a sentimental facet to his personality. His gesture almost made up for waking alone. Blinking away tears, Azkedellia rose and went to look for a vase. 

She found Cain in the boarding barn's exercise ring, schooling one of the geldings, or perhaps simply having some fun with the spirited animal. She watched him vault to the unicorn's back with the agility of a teenyouth. The 'corn pivoted, but Cain anticipated the move and was one with the animal as it broke into a canter. No mean feat when the 'corn wore neither saddle nor bridle.

She couldn't' help smiling. Cain's snug trousers were truly eye-catching. And now that she knew what fascinating secrets the garment concealed, her mental image of him would never be the same.

Cain trotted the 'corn over to her and murmured a soft "whoa." The 'corn stood like a statue while he slid to the ground. He came to her side and placed an all-too-brotherly kiss on her cheek. Tin Man had deposed lover.

"You've' missed your calling," she told him, hiding her disappointment. "You should be a trainer."

"Nah, that's for young folks. My son Jeb can almost make them turn hand-springs. He's thrilled with the fillies you sold him."

Jeb. The young Breeder Aggie had mentioned. So it _was_ Cain's son! How delicious.

"You certainly have this one obeying your every command. He always tries to bite me."

"He's young. Needs to be ridden more."

He shooed the 'corn out the barn door. They watched it canter across the pasture to join the others, exuberantly kicking up its heels every few strides.

"I'll help you finish chores," Cain said, "then I want to take a look at your South Valley. What's the best way to get there?"

_As if I knew. I've never even been to South Valley. _"Too bad we can't borrow my niece's broom. We could fly over it."

Cain suppressed a shudder. _Fly?_ The highest off the ground he ever wanted to get was the cab of one of those enormous steam locomotives that traversed the Great Gillikin Railway.

"Since we can't, what's our next best option?"

"You'll need a guide. Let's see if Hom has returned."

* * *

Hom had almost finished breakfast when Lady Agatha and the gink cornered him in the kitchen.

"Hom," Lady Agatha said, "I want you to show Mr. Cain our breeding herd. Answer any questions as best you can."

Hom stared resentfully at Cain, who eyed him with undisguised suspicion. The feeling's mutual, Bub, Hom thought.

What was her ladyship thinking, letting a stranger go bothering the 'corns? The pregnant shes were touchy enough as it was. Hamlet wouldn't take kindly at all to an unfamiliar scent. Furthermore, the only ways into the valley were by balloon_which they didn't have_or by saddle, a six hour journey and Hom no longer rode.

Unless she meant for him to just observe the herd from a distance, which made better sense.

"So…take him to Unicorn's Leap and let him look over the herd from there?" Far enough away he wouldn't upset them.

"If that's the best way you know."

Unless you want to take a woods troll tunnel, Hom thought, fighting the urge to yank his topknot in frustration. Too bad he couldn't lure the gink down one and leave him there. Not that he'd fit.

"We'll take my ground car," Cain said. "It's faster than your farm vehicles."

Well, yeah, if you stay on brickwork, Hom thought. But the roadway ended far from the overlook, leaving a strenuous cross-country hike. Taking the U-dub or the old steam tractor would shave off several miles of travel. Funny her ladyship didn't point that out.

Or maybe the gink didn't know how to drive utility wagons or steam tractors and she didn't want to embarrass him. Hom himself couldn't drive because his feet didn't reach the pedals.

In any event, riding with the gink would get him to South Valley faster than walking, and he needed to return before nightfall.

Hom swallowed the last of his tea and made a face. What was Cassidy brewing it with, pipe tobacco? He snatched up his backpack. "Ready when you are."

"Any luck finding your missing mare?" Cain asked when they were several minutes underway.

"Lost her trail when my glowtorch died. Was gonna look some more this morning, but her ladyship had other ideas."

"Sorry to spoil your plans."

"No skin off your nose, is it? What's your business here at Unicorn's Leap? You in the market for a 'corn? Got one to be trained?"

Not yet ready to reveal his true identity to Hom, Cain slipped into his obnoxious suitor role.

"Your mistress is seeking a consort. She's a bit long in the tooth for my taste, but a man can make allowances." He jerked the wheel to avoid a bathtub-sized pothole. "Hope the whole stronghold's not this run down. Can't see taking on an insolvent demesne, no matter how tempting the bait might be."

The Munchkin's ears turned red, but he said nothing. Cain hid a smile. Anger meant Hom was loyal enough to take offense when someone insulted Lady Agatha. His barrage of questions concerning the amount of land Unicorn's Leap encompassed, the number of 'corns, the number of milkmares, the acreage under cultivation, elicited only sullen, unhelpful replies. Hom's eyelids drooped. The little ankle-biter was nodding off.

"What happened to last year's foal crop? I've heard some ugly rumors. Is your stud used up or something?"

That woke him up.

"Listen, Bub, there's no better herdsire in the OZ than Hamlet. He's smart, he's strong, and he's got a hundred percent impregnation rate. 'Corns come from all over to breed to him."

"So where are they? All I've seen in your barn are a handful of geldings here for training. There's not much platinum in that."

"Wrong season." Hom shot him a look that added _you dunce_. "The mama 'corns are all home delivering their 'cornlets. Hey, be careful not to do anything to frighten the herd when we get there. No yelling or waiving your arms."

"How many outside mares did you breed this past season?"

Hom folded his arms and stared out the window. "Not my job to count 'em."

"Just what is your job, then?"

"Whatever her ladyship asks. Muck stalls. Milk the mares. Give gink-er…gents come courting the grand tour."

Hom's tone made it clear he rated the last chore right up there with the first he'd listed. Cain couldn't help liking the hard-nosed shrimp, and wished he dare confide in him. Hom probably knew the demesne better than anyone.

"What'd you do before you came here? Who are your references?"

"I've been here too long to need references. Ten annuals."

"Before that?"

"Listen. I don't have to answer all these questions. Lady Agatha said to show the 'corns, not tell you my life story."

"Must be some kind of scofflaw," Cain muttered not quite under his breath. "Better run a background check."

The Munchkin's reply took Cain by surprise.

"Check all you want! There's no dirt on me. What happened wasn't my fault and don't you forget it. For your information, I wore the colors of Double Suns Hall, the Arduennas. Rode the fastest two-milers they owned."

"So you say." If true, Cain was impressed. Double Suns owned a string of record-setting flat track race'corns and some prestigious steeplechasers as well. "Why'd you leave?"

Hom was silent so long Cain thought he would not answer at all. Then, in a much subdued tone he said, "Got hurt in a pile-up. My race'corn, too. He…didn't make it."

Now Cain remained silent. He understood the bond between man and mount. Far less comprehensible were owners who cared less for their animals and retainers than for their profit and loss statements. Such men would blame their jockeys for a wreck.

"Black-balled you?" he asked, losing the battle to keep sympathy out of his voice.

"Didn't wait around to see. I gave it up. Never raced again."


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Several miles later the brickwork simply stopped. Twin ruts over which only off-road vehicles might traverse without risking a snapped axel led from the brickwork across a meadow and into a thick forest on the opposite side. Cain poked Hom in the ribs to wake him.

"You sure we came the right way?"

Hom looked around, rubbing his eyes. Finally he said, "Uh-huh. End of the line. Too bad we didn't bring saddle'corns. Gotta walk quite a ways if you want to see the herd."

Cain got out, needing to stretch. Faint pincers of a headache were closing behind his eyes after the long, jolting ride. Lady Agatha might have mentioned a portion of their way was impassable to ground cars. And Hom knew, but kept mum.

He took a deep, satisfying breath of cool, pine-laden air and gave a mental shrug. Walking great distances was nothing new to him.

"Lead the way."

Hom did, although he lost the trail three times before they reached Unicorn's Leap.

After two hours of steady tramping, through old-growth timber, over sparkling brooks, across clearings filled with early frostflowers already wilting in the heat, they at last climbed a steep, narrow pathway that topped out above a vast, sheer-walled valley, almost a canyon.

Rugged sandstone pinnacles rose to staggering heights from the valley floor. Their shapes reminded Cain of towers and obelisks, even sailing ships. At their feet, a stream penciled a sinuous blue line through a lush green grassland going yellow from autumn's chilly nights. A sparkling lakelet mirrored the twin suns' reflection in its pristine depths.

"This is it," Hom said. "Unicorn's Leap."

Polished from countless backsides settling down to take in the magnificent view, an outcrop of chalcedony, oddly reminiscent of unicorn ivory, gleamed in the midday suns. Here, thought Cain, was where he'd choose to end things, but for the risk of spoiling the site for generations to come.

Unicorn heaven. But where were they?

Before he could ask, Hom said, "Now we wait 'til they come down to drink." The Munchkin opened his pack and rummaged inside, coming up with a stoppered demijohn. "Speaking of drink, ya want some of this tea?"

Cain had taken a long refreshing drink at an icy stream a short time ago. "No thanks," he said, "but I'll take one of those sanwitches if there's extra."

Cain found a boulder to rest against while he ate. The Munchkin downed his tea, then settled against a huge flagpole pine. In moments he was snoring-or pretending to.

Finished with his sanwitch, Cain took out his telescope. Through it, the valley floor looked a mere stone's throw distant. He watched two half-grown bunniebears gamboling beside a stream. Their mother grazed peacefully on a nearby wild grapevine. A woods troll emerged from some invisible bolt-hole. It looked around, sniffing the air with its great bulbous nose. Suddenly it froze, and an instant later disappeared. Then the bunniebear mother woofed to her cubs and splashed across the stream, leading them off.

"What's eating them?" Cain wondered.

Moments later, he spotted what the woods troll and bunniebear must have scented_something black creeping from shadow to shadow. Some of their unease transmitted itself to Cain. His fingers brushed the butt of his revolver.

Then he took his hand away. He was a crack shot, but the short-barreled revolver wasn't designed for distance. If he wanted to drop something that far away he needed the twelve-inch barrel he'd left at the Great Hall. Even then, the shot would be dicey.

Besides, he had no idea what he'd be shooting at. Equine in shape, but not a unicorn. 'Corns were never anything but white. Too trim of limb for milk stock. Besides, milk stock didn't…creep. Cain rubbed his eyes as he brought up his telescope.

The black beast stood half hidden behind a thornberry bush. Through the scope, Cain saw its nostrils quiver as it tested the wind. Destrier. Had to be. The Longcoats' trademark steed. One must have escaped, gone feral.

Then the unicorns appeared, and Cain forgot all about the mysterious black creature.

He counted perhaps twenty, most huge with unborn foals. Huge they might be, but they cantered as if the unwieldy bulges and surplus weight were no more than cobwebs clinging to their sides. Sunbeams struck rainbow flashes from their spiral horns. Their tails flowed like banners.

In the lead loped an older she'corn with narrow flanks, perhaps barren, perhaps her foal already born, indistinguishable among the other 'corns. Behind them came the herdsire, fully two hands taller than the tallest she'corn, a hundred pounds heavier.

The herdsire_Hamlet, was it?_threw up his head and bugled an urgent command that reverberated from the valley walls. The lead 'corn instantly altered course, away from the lakelet's shoreline. The brood'corns scattered in confusion as Hamlet galloped through them, his pounding hooves audible even from Cain's vantage point high above. Fifty feet beyond the milling herd he executed a 180-degree pivot that would have launched a rider like a trebuchet flings a boulder, and thundered back the way he'd come.

The lead'corn had regained her position and was whinnying "follow me" orders to the herd. Hamlet charged the 'corns not moving fast enough, squealing and biting flanks hard enough to leave marks visible through Cain's scope.

"Hom," Cain said, "what's going on?"

Hom grumbled unintelligibly and rolled over on his side.

"Hom! Dammit, wake up!"

Cain's shout brought Hom up on his knees. "Huh? Wha'zat? Wha'az matter?"

"Look!"

By now, Hamlet had the herd turned and racing up the valley.

"What's going on?" Hom asked. "They're not supposed to run like that this close to foaling."

"You tell me. Something spooked the herdsire." Cain handed Hom the telescope.

After peering through the wrong end and some confused fumbling, Hom got the scope properly oriented. He studied the valley floor, then shook his head.

"Nothing. You see anything funny? Eaters or anything?"

"Eaters?"

"You know, loner papay. Sometimes they wander into the valley. Hamlet takes care of them. Or the woods trolls catch and eat them."

_Eat _them? Cain made a you-gotta-be-kidding face. "Saw a woods troll. Some bunniebears."

"None of those would spook Hamlet."

"Wait a minute. There was something else. Looked like a destrier or maybe a milker stallion_something black anyhow."

Hom shook his head again. "They wouldn't make Hamlet run his she'corns like that. He would have challenged it. Run it off. Where'd you see it?"

Cain pointed out the thornberry bush where he last saw the beast, but nothing black remained. If whatever it was hadn't so enraged the herdsire, and come to think of it, frightened the woods troll into his bolt-hole, he would have chalked it up to a freak cloud shadow, or his own overactive imagination.

"You think you can find your way back without me?" Hom asked as they prepared to return to the ground car.

Faster than with you guiding me, Cain thought. "Yeah. Where are you going?"

"I've still got a milkmare to find. When I lost her trail she was headed this direction. And there's several she'corns close to foaling. I need to stay out here tonight." 

Hidden deep within a thornberry copse, Smythe raged impotently as the unicorn herd galloped back the way it had come. Not even doubling the volume of Essence of Unicorn with which he'd injected himself had hidden his presence from the herdsire.

He had hoped to follow the herd unnoticed until it bedded down for the night. Some of the she'corns would doubtless be giving birth. When the laboring mothers slipped away, he'd be ready. One or two more Goldens would provide enough raw material to complete his transformation. He meant to acquire them tonight.

Still in his quadruped form, he set off after the herd.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

By the time Cain returned to the Great Hall, it was well nearing sunsset. Not enough daylight remained to undertake any further investigations. Tomorrow, he meant to explore South Valley on unicornback.

The return journey had afforded Cain an opportunity to reflect on his actions the previous night. He wasn't proud of them. He'd never expected…things…to go so far, so fast. But he'd let his libido blast common sense right out of the saddle.

No, he didn't feel he'd somehow betrayed Adora. In his mind a widower many annuals before her actual death, he felt no guilt over making love to another woman. He'd been prepared to entertain Lady Agatha in his bed. Or hers. Entertain was a good word. It meant pleasure, not commitment.

What he didn't anticipate, truly did not welcome, was finding himself wanting _her_. Not with the hopeless, ardent longing he felt for Azkedellia_this was far more earthy_but with as little expectation of ever making her his. Neither woman would want what he would become when the tumor began to regrow.

It wouldn't be fair to Agatha to woo her in earnest, not when she could never quell the longing in his heart for another. Nor would it be right to widow her a second time. Still, the temptation was strong. He had to make sure what took place last night did not happen again.

Postponing the inevitable, Cain headed directly to his quarters. There he found a dispatch waiting with the biolineage report he'd requested on the butler-bot. It presented more questions than it answered. Remanufactured some three years ago. Deluxe edition, but no enhancements, no upgrades. No returns to the factory for tune-ups either, he noted with a raised eyebrow.

The report made him uneasy. Most robots routinely returned to their Factory of Origin for annual evaluations. Smythe hadn't since its arrival at Unicorn Leap. And it had received numerous upgrades and enhancements not reflected in its maintenance record. Not factory-approved, therefore not legal and potentially dangerous.

Cain sighed. Robot maintenance and record keeping were far from the only matters neglected during the Witch's reign, so the report could be obsolete. But he doubted it. Smythe's attitude alone called for a major overhaul. Once the 'pirates' issue was resolved, he would personally see that the butler-bot got its long overdue tune-up.

He took his time showering. Decided to freshen his shave. Polished his shoes. Anything to postpone facing Lady Agatha. Quit it, he told himself as he buttoned his shirt. Man up.

The butler-bot politely informed him her ladyship could be found in the library. Steeling himself, he opened the library door.

And there she was, on that damned bunniebear rug, listening to a book read itself. She wore a gown the color of moonbeams, but otherwise twin to the flame colored one she wore the night he arrived. The one he'd wanted to slide off one shoulder while kissing the other.

"Cain," she said, and silenced the book with a waive of her hand.

Cain's body responded to the yearning in her voice even as his mind screamed at him to haul ass out of the room, slam the door, and run like hell for the nearest ground car. He stepped over the threshold and was trapped.

He never quite remembered how he got from the door to the rug, nor how he became entangled in Agatha's arms, his lips pressing hungry kisses on her neck and shoulder. Her hands explored his shoulders and the line of his spine, sending little frissons of electricity running along his nerves.

She shifted, urging him with subtle movements to let his weight come more onto her. His pulse accelerated as he nestled into her hollows and curves.

He nuzzled the edge of that dangerously low neckline, his tongue teasing the full upper curves of her breasts. Her woman-scent was as intoxicating as wine. In his fantasies, he'd pictured her clad in nothing but firelight, its shadows dancing on her skin. He wanted nothing more than to undress her right there and make his fantasies come true.

The muted crash of a burned-through log startled them apart. "Just the fire," he said.

She made a gesture with her fingers. The fire settled, albeit with a greenish hue. But for Cain, sanity had returned. When she reached out, he caught her hand.

"Lady Agatha…I'll be frank. I can't do this again and let you believe I feel something…I don't." Must not.

Azkedellia studied the dark flecks stippling the fur beneath her. He didn't have to spell out his emotional indifference. She was _glad_ he wasn't confessing his love, _glad_ their role-playing hadn't turned into reality. It would be difficult enough if he had fallen for the real Lady Agatha. She didn't know what she would do if their prank resulted in him falling for someone he only believed was Lady Agatha.

"Go on," she said.

His shoulders shifted. Not quite a shrug. "You're a beautiful woman. Charming. Sexy. Any man would be honored to be your consort, bonded or not."

"Any man but you," she finished for him. She turned away before asking, "Are you in love with someone?"

For a moment, Cain didn't speak. How could he answer without spilling his guts?

"I don't know if I'll ever love again," he said at last. "When my wife died, part of me died, too." And he had no future to plan with a beloved, even if by some miracle he were to discover a way to have the woman he wanted. Still, he could not deny her existence. "If…things were different, there is one I would offer my bond."

Who? Azkedellia raged. _Who?_ Had he lied about his feelings for Deegee? Was it one of those forever flirting Palace maids? Some ragged Resistance camp-follower? Had a visiting nobleman's simpering daughter somehow caught his eye, and when he approached her, rebuffed him? How _dare_ she, whoever she was, spurn Cain's attentions!

It took all her willpower not to demand the woman's name, so she could blast the bitch to the farthest reaches of OZ. Better yet, swipe her tumbling through the barrier to the Other Side. But no. She no longer possessed the power to do either, and ripping the lucky fool from Cain's world would only cause him further pain.

She said, "I see…."

He took her shoulders in his hands. His breath was warm on her neck and for a moment he held her without speaking.

"Don't think you're a convenient substitute. I don't take just any woman to bed. If I didn't enjoy your companionship, we wouldn't be having this conversation. But I can't offer you any more than the few nights we have here."

Azkedellia bit her lip. One or two more nights. With Cain making love to a woman he believed was Lady Agatha. Could she have him only by deceiving him? Should she accept his terms, or send him away and have nothing? Give herself to a man who didn't even know who she was, who might well reject her, find her repulsive if he discovered her true identity?

Being the Witch's slave had offered many rewards, and she seldom resisted temptation. In her entire lifetime she had rarely settled for anything less than everything she wanted. Were a few stolen hours better than none at all?

She turned under his hands. His expression was so grim, so somber, it almost made her laugh. It almost made her cry.

"I value your candor, Mr. Cain, But I am a woman of the world, not a love-struck scullery maid. I can cope with a casual fling if such it must be. You take things much too seriously."

She moved closer. Her green-gold eyes seemed lit by fires deep within. Fires that tempted. Cajoled. Beckoned. But for the risk that Smythe or, gods forbid, Cassidy, might blunder onto their tryst, Cain would readily possess her then and there before the green-hued fire. So much for noble intentions.

He stood and lifted her to her feet. "Let's find someplace more private." 

Azkedellia felt Cain's hand brush her spine from time to time, as if to steady her as they climbed the spiral staircase. They entered Agatha's boudoir and the door closed behind them, locking itself. Light came up slowly from glowlamps scattered throughout the room. A finger snap would extinguish them, but Azkedellia wanted to see. Wanted Cain to see her. Wished she dared reveal who she was.

She felt his hand on her waist, stopping her. His other hand stroked her shoulder, the one her gown left bare. His breath was hot on the back of her neck, quick and choppy, not from the climb but arousal. She felt his erection pressing against her. She pressed back, and felt his breathing hitch.

Then his breath fanned her ear an instant before his tongue found the sensitive folds. His hands found her breasts_and Aggie's damned corset, which she'd put on hoping Cain would enjoy helping her remove it.

His laugh was a deep, husky rumble. "What are you wearing?"

Fetching as the garment might be once revealed, right now the stiff fabric obstructed his touch, and she wanted nothing more than his hands, his mouth, on her skin. Her breasts felt heavy, turgid with need. She wanted to dispose of all her garments, his, too, with a flicker of magic.

Instead she made her voice low and sultry. "You'll have to wait and see."

"Okay. I'm a patient man."

Cain turned her to face him and lowered his mouth to hers. Her taste was as intoxicating as he remembered it from the night before. The heat of her body warmed the entire length of his own. He felt her hands gliding over his back and suddenly his shirt felt too tight, too confining. He shed it without conscious thought.

He kissed her throat, licking and teasing the sensitive skin. Her pulse fluttered like a small trapped bird. He felt her trembling as he kissed her. Possessiveness exploded in him, stunning him. He thought he'd left far behind any inclinations to batter down mountains to claim a woman, had just spent hours reminding himself why he must not even try. She was not his. He could never be hers. She was at best on loan. But oh, the need was strong, the desire strong. Her Siren blood cried out to him to make her his own.

The gown zipped in back from neckline to below the waist. He lowered the tab a little at a time, as if unwrapping a priceless treasure, then eased the fabric from her shoulder. He paused to nibble at the inner side of her elbow as he drew the sleeve down her arm. He heard her breath stop, then start with a short gasp.

Another tug and the gown slithered to the floor. The crimson and black corset he discovered was the last thing Cain expected. Sin Center red and tar sprite ebony. Colors designed to steal away a man's will.

As if the flesh beneath weren't enough. The corset outlined her breasts with black lace, pushed them together and mounded them into the full, rounded contours her neckline had not quite revealed. A matching garter belt captured sheer black stockings that reached almost to the apex of her thighs. Desire leaped in Cain like the hottest flame, searing the last of his common sense to ash.

"I have to have you," he whispered.

"I thought you were a patient man."

"Not that patient."

"You'll have to help me with the strings."

She turned her back, revealing black cord interlaced down her spine and tied in a neat bow just above the cleavage of her bare derriere. It took Cain a moment to find his voice.

"In a minute." The skimpy underthings were far too sexy to remove.

He carried her to the bed and placed her on her knees with her rounded bottom toward him, the saucy black bow taunting him, daring him to press himself inside her.

_Not yet. Not yet._

He had to touch her. Had to taste her. He eased his hand between her thighs, palm flat against her skin. Her short, crisp curls met his fingers and his groin clenched. He reached farther, deeper, feeling her shiver as he slowly, gently, explored. He found her clit, urgently rigid, stroked it, felt her shudder. Eyes closed, he inhaled her sultry scent as he stroked her folds, so warm, so wet, so ready. He touched her with his tongue. She squirmed and he clamped one arm around her thighs, holding her in place.

Whimpers of pleasure escaped her lips as Cain used his tongue and fingers to pleasure her. His own body grew ever tauter as her movements and cries became more and more feverish. Her body trembled as she approached the moment of release. His cock throbbed, impatient to be sheathed.

_Not yet. Not yet._

And then he felt her come, her body quaking, her words incomprehensible, but he continued his caresses, stopping only when she went limp in his arms and whimpered, "Please, Cain, enough."

"For now."

He saw their reflections in a looking glass angled from one wall. Catching her gaze in the mirror, he unbuttoned his pants and opened the fly. The pants dropped, he kicked them aside, toed off his shoes. Slowly he peeled off his underdrawers.

Azkedellia stared at Cain's reflection. In the gazebo, it had been too dark to see much detail. Impossible that any one male could look so delicious. Arms sculpted from hard labor, thighs strong from long strides or gripping the barrel of a horse. Chest hair sparse but golden until it reached his groin where it thickened and darkened, and from it sprang his wonderfully thick, blue-veined shaft.

He rubbed his length against her buttocks. Then lower. She was at the perfect height for him to enter her, but he delayed, teasing her with his hardness. He untied the bow, loosened the lacing, all the while rubbing himself back and forth, coating them with her juices. With his. He helped her slip free of the corset, but when she reached to unfasten the garter belt, he caught her hand.

"Not those. Leave them on."

Cain wanted to feel the sleekness of her stocking-clad legs gripping him when he entered her.

She rolled onto her back and scooted over to make room, arching her spine, offering her breasts. He captured one and lowered his mouth to her nipple. The little sounds she made as he sucked and licked her swollen nipples turned Cain's blood to lava. His fingers delving into the petals of her sex drew renewed cries of pleasure from her lips. A final touch of his tongue to her clit produced a clenching throughout her body.

"Now, Cain," she said and spread open her legs.

The turbulence of her desire swirled around him. Not even their coupling last night had prepared him for such intensity. When he sheathed himself in her, she gripped him so tightly it would have been painful had it not felt so gods-damned good.

Then her long, slim, black-clad legs encircled him and her ankles crossed, locking him in place. He set a leisurely pace, pushing deep, gliding out, her incoherent words urging him on. His body tightened, coiled, demanded release. Only when she went rigid, when the hot flesh gripping his rippled over and over, when she cried his name and went limp in his arms, did he let himself reach for his own pleasure. A moan escaped his lips as her fingers scraped down his spine and dug into his buttocks, sending him over the edge.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Hom woke to discover it was well into Last Sun. What in hells?

Guiding Mr. Potential Consort to Unicorn's Leap had wasted the entire morning, but still left most of the day to find and follow Bess' trail. After working his way to the valley floor, he'd sat down to rest for a minute, have a sip of tea, a bite to eat. He'd gulped the last of the tea and reached for his daypack…and now it was almost dark. He'd have to skip looking for Bess and catch up to the unicorn herd. All indications were that Seafoam would foal tonight, and he meant to be there.

But first, food. He was starving. Opening the daypack, Hom found more chicken sanwitches, cheese, bread, and a generous bunch of pink Pertha grapes. Leaving the sanwitches for later, he unwrapped the cheese.

He had high hopes for Seafoam. You don't, Hom mused as he sliced the cheese with his belt-knife, ride the best of the best without learning a thing or two about bloodlines. Hamlet was something of an enigma, a refugee from one of the herds the Witch had ordered destroyed. If he was papered, Hom had never seen them. But Seafoam's bloodlines were illustrious. She was a double grandniece of the mighty Cauldron, last known Goldenhorn. With that genetic concentration, any of her foals might be Golden. Last year's 'cornlet, her first by Hamlet, disappeared before anyone got a look at it. This year, that wasn't happening.

He was cutting a slice of bread when a woods troll popped up from the ground. Hom froze, knife in one hand, loaf in the other. The stench emanating from the troll was incredible.

"You gonna eat that cheese?" the troll rumbled deep in his throat. Or hers. Without getting entirely too close, Hom couldn't tell he-trolls from she-trolls.

He sighed and tossed the wedge he'd cut to the troll, his appetite snuffed by the troll's powerful odor.

"Here. Enjoy."

The troll snatched the cheese and crammed it into his/her mouth. Hom averted his gaze as the troll chewed with open-mouth snarffing noises.

"Why you so glum, Munchkin. Lost again?"

"No, I'm not lost."

"Most times when we meet, you lost."

"Well I'm not lost this time, got it? And I'm not glum, I'm mad. Another of our milkmares disappeared.

The troll's ears twitched. "Something eat her? Not me. No meat in long, long time."

It turned a hopeful gaze on Hom's pack where it probably smelled the chicken in his sanwitches. Hom ignored the hint.

"Gods, I hope not. She's one of our best milkers."

"Better to eat mare-meat. Milk _gublicht_."

It used the word that came as close to describing something as both nasty and obscene as troll language could manage. They considered most things even remotely edible tasty viands. Not milk.

"Gublicht or not, I gotta find her. You haven't seen her? Maybe smelled horse in with the 'corns?"

The troll scratched its huge, bulbous nose. "Not smell horse. Smell…other."

The troll made an evil-warding sign with his/her thumb. Hom blinked. Trolls were fearless. They caught and ate papay the way Munchkins harvested truffles. What spooked this one so much it made the warding sign after speaking of it?

Maybe it saw who was stealing the 'cornlets. Hom straightened. "What other?"

"Not know. Smell not-alive, but not dead. More cheese?"

"Not yet. Did you see this…this dead-but-not-dead thing? What was it doing?"

"Not see. Only smell. Gublicht." It made the evil-warding sign again.

This made no sense, and Hom had no time to play twenty questions. He sliced another wedge of cheese and some bread, and passed them to the troll. He tucked the knife and remaining food into his daypack.

"It's been swell, but I gotta move on. Gotta catch up with the 'corns before nightfall."

"'Corns many furlongs from here. You want use tunnels shortcut?"

While Hom knew this was a privilege seldom granted non-trolls, he suppressed a shudder at the idea. Once several years ago a troll_maybe this one, maybe another_offered him the use of their tunnels. Although almost too tall to fit he'd accepted. Never again.

After what seemed like days of slogging through what in a city could have passed for a sewer-cum-charnel house, he emerged covered head to toe with a clinging slime that took hours to scrub off. The odor lingered for days.

Cassidy banished him from the kitchen. The hands kicked him out of the bunkhouse. Even the butler-bot held its nose when delivering Hom's supper tray to the tack room. But somehow, he'd reached his destination a good ten minutes before he'd started out.

"Thanks just the same. I, ah, gotta look for tracks. If I find Bess, I can ride her until I catch the 'corns." Hom shouldered his pack.

"You change mind, click heels and say 'there no place like home'. I come guide."

* * *

Last Sun had long disappeared beyond the mountains when Hom found the unicorn herd. The moon, gleaming like a giant pumpkin hollowed out and packed with glowlint, filled South Valley with deep shadow and vast plateaus bright as day.

Twice he missed the deer-trail winding past Seafoam's hideaway. Now, from his position above the small arroyo, he gazed awestricken as the she'corn licked her newborn clean. When the 'cornlet wriggled, moonlight struck a flash of brilliance from its tiny head.

"I _knew_ it!" he wanted to shout but only dared whisper. "A _Golden_!"

Seafoam had hidden herself quite thoroughly. If he hadn't spotted her exploring the area a few days ago, he might never have found her. She'd made a good choice, a trickle of water, enough room to maneuver if something threatened, the arroyo sides too steep and crumbling for predators to clamber down. Nor could Hom. He had to backtrack and circle to get close enough to help in case of trouble. Muttering, he started back the way he'd come.

Some twenty minutes later, Hom, scratched and battered, broke free of the thornberry bushes marking the arroyo's mouth. About to call to Seafoam, he spotted something moving, a misshapen figure that refused to resolve itself into something commonplace made confusing by a trick of light and shadow.

The shape emerged from the darkness. Hom gaped, too stunned to move. It had a destrier's lean, wiry body, long limbs, flowing tail. But arising where the neck should be were the torso, arms, and head of a man.

Even after Hom rubbed his eyes, merciful Ozma, it still had six limbs.

Whatever it was, it crept up the arroyo, toward Seafoam and the infant Golden.

He was still too far away to intervene, and what could he do against such a monstrous creature? He possessed no magic. His sole weapon was his belt-knife_about as much help as a toothpick.

Alert Hamlet. He must be somewhere close. Warn the mother. She might be strong enough to drive the thing away, at least keep it at bay until the herdsire arrived.

"Seafoam!" he shouted. Ha-a-a-amlet! He-e-e-elp!"

Seafoam's head shot up, ears flat in the moonlight. She saw or smelled the creature, and, horn lowered to battle tilt, stepped between it and her baby.

The creature flung a cloudy fluid at Seafoam. It sailed through the air and splashed over Seafoam's face. She shook her mane, snorting and sneezing to rid herself of the viscous liquid. Then her front legs buckled.

"Ha-a-am-le-e-et!"

Hom ran. Ignoring the stiffness of his bad leg, he dodged bushes and leaped boulders, splashing through the water draining from the arroyo, shouting over and over to make enough noise to guide the herdsire to their location, and maybe scare the creature away.

He ran headlong into the invisible barrier. He would have bounced like a stone hitting a repulsion spell, had the strands not wrapped him in their sticky embrace. In his mind he saw a gigantic spider scuttling across the web to devour its struggling catch. Hom shrieked like a schoolmaid.

He clawed for his belt-knife. Gone! He wasted precious seconds groping for it before he remembered slipping it into his daypack instead of its sheath. With his arms wrapped in a stranglehold, he fumbled for his pack.

He heard Hamlet coming, his distant whinny a war cry.

"Hurry!" Hom shouted, hoping Hamlet understood. Hoping the herdsire arrived in time to drive his ivory horn right through that abomination's heart.

The 'cornlet squealed in terror_was the damned thing _eating_ it? Hom managed to find the knife and work it loose from the pack. Managed not to drop it or cut himself. He sawed at the strands, which parted then oozed together again before he could sever the next one, no matter how frantically he hacked.

He heard hoof beats. Hamlet's pounding, the creature's clattering as it cantered off. With no warning, the strands holding Hom disintegrated. He tumbled forward, tripped over a branch and fell, his head slamming against the ground. 

When his head quit whirling enough for him to sit up, he was alone. Seafoam was gone. Hamlet, too. He looked for the 'cornlet. No corpse, thank the gods. Staggering a little, Hom looked around for tracks. The sandy arroyo showed dozens, a jumble of illegible sign. But at the mouth, even Hom could read it. Great gouges where Hamlet made a right-angle turn at full gallop. Three sets departing. Seafoam trailing her 'cornlet, the creature carrying it, Hamlet, rearing every few paces with impotent fury.

Hom stood, undecided what to do. Follow Seafoam and Hamlet, and the Golden 'cornlet? Or return to the stronghold for help. Maybe, knowing what to look for, with a fresh trail to follow, the Tin Man would come clean and do something besides sniff after Lady Agatha. Maybe they could capture the creature. Destroy it.

Whatever they did, it had to be soon. From what Hom had seen, the 'cornlet didn't even have a chance to nurse.

The fastest way home was by saddle'corn-which he didn't have. He hadn't ridden a 'corn since the wreck that crippled him, but saving the newborn Golden mattered more than catering to his personal hang-ups. Question was, which she'corn might tolerate a rider? Most brood'corns got little training beyond follow or stand on command. Their job was producing babies. Even if he could convince one to carry him, it was still a six-hour ride. Far, far too long.

Then Hom remembered the woods troll's offer.

* * *

In his cavern laboratory above South Valley, Smythe trembled and shook with effort as he strove to regain his bipedal form.

Earlier, after finding the unicorn herd, he'd needed arms and hands to cast the sleeping fluid at the she'corn. When he attempted to regain his bipedal form, the transformation stalled, leaving him part quadruped. His upper body reformed properly, but from the waist down, he remained destrier.

Evidently he had injected too much Essence of Unicorn. In one respect, the resulting mutation proved a boon. He traveled much faster on four legs, and still had both arms to carry away infant 'corns.

Thanks to that damned interfering Munchkin, he'd captured only two, but they would do. In the morning, he would begin the long, bloody process of de-horning the Goldens and distilling the Elixir of Life.

But first he had to complete his transformation. Little good biologic life would do someone trapped in a form half horse and half man.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Cain! Wake up! Cain!"

Shouting jolted his mind from turbulent, half-formed dreams, but it was the stench that made Cain's eyes spring open. He'd left Agatha's bedchamber, Agatha's embrace, Agatha's creamy thighs only an hour or so ago. Why was he waking in a sewer?

His fist closed on the revolver beneath his pillow, cocking the hammer as he flung off the bedding to free his legs. Misty light hovered beyond the open door, silhouetting two figures. One made a quick gesture that brought Cain's gunhand up and aiming even as the light intensified. Agatha, her hair in tumbled disarray from their lovemaking, stood beside a small, slime-covered individual who must be the source of the odor.

"Don't shoot! It's us!" Hom cried. The Munchkin was all but jumping up and down.

"What in hells is going on? Great Gale, Hom, you stink like a pigsty."

"Ya gotta hurry! I saw it, I tell ya. I saw the thing that's gettin' our 'cornlets. And it's no pirate! It's got four legs and two arms and_"

"Hom," Agatha said, "give Mr. Cain a moment to wake up. Go clean yourself while he dresses."

"But I_"

"Hom. Go." She reached out as if to start him moving, then jerked her hand away. "Now."

"I'm goin', I'm goin'. But you," he pointed an encrusted finger at Cain's chest, "make it snappy, Bub."

Agatha 's gaze glided over Cain's torso and down to the loose cotton drawers he slept in. Her focus lingered long enough to remind him just how thin those drawers were, remind him she knew exactly how he looked without them. Then she smiled and followed Hom out, light trailing like fog in her wake.

Cain eased the hammer gently into place. As he swung his feet to the floor, a wave of grayness rolled across his vision. He took scant notice. Even with Hom gone, the room reeked of whatever he'd blundered into. Cain shoved the window open wide before reaching for his trousers. 

A short time later, seated at a work-table in a cubby off Cassidy's kitchen, Cain and Lady Agatha listened as a damp but still malodorous Hom urgently related his story.

"Hom," Cain said when the Munchkin paused for breath, "are you sure you didn't fall asleep and dream this creature? There's nothing like that in all the OZ. Nor any of the Inner Territories that I've ever heard of."

Hom's face turned crimson. "You think I imagined all this?" He pointed to the swelling on his forehead, a regular phoenix egg. "Feel this lump where I smacked my head getting loose. I'm telling you, Seafoam's baby is a Golden, and I didn't dream _any_ of it, you fortune-hunting son of a whore!"

Cain ignored the insult. He was about to ask another question when Agatha spoke.

"Actually, Mr. Cain, an Otherside constellation depicts just such a creature. It sounds like he's describing a mythological being called a centaur."

"So we've got a mythical creature from the Otherside come to life here, stealing unicorns. I think when Hom hit his head he_"

"Think whatever you like!" Hom shoved back from the table so hard his chair tipped over with a crash. "I know what I saw. If you don't want to go look for it, I'll do it myself!"

"Hom, wait." Agatha rose and started after the Munchkin. Cain caught her arm.

"Let him simmer down some. We need to think this through. Something's fishy here. Hom said this happened less than an hour before he woke you. South Valley's a six-hour ride in daylight. He was on foot, in the dark, and he gets lost in broad daylight following a trail he's used for ten years. How'd he get here so quickly?"

"He told me he came through the woods trolls' tunnels."

"Woods trolls! No wonder he smells like he fell in a manure pile." Cain recalled the troll he glimpsed from Unicorn's Leap. The one something frightened. Maybe it had seen…. Cain shook his head. "I guess he didn't imagine that, but I always thought those shortcut-through-time stories were myths."

"You didn't believe in Goldens, either."

"Still don't." Nor happily ever after.

"That aside," Agatha said, starting to pace, "the liquid Hom says the creature used to subdue Seafoam troubles me. If it can incapacitate a unicorn, what might it do to you and Hom?"

"I guess we'll have to practice holding our breath."

She pivoted and glared at him. "This isn't amusing." She took a few more agitated steps. "There are no spiders large enough to produce a web like he described. At least there never have been. The way he described the web smacks of an impediment spell."

Cain straightened. "That's pretty powerful magic."

"It's child's play for a Dark Mage. If that's what we're dealing with, he's probably set other traps. All kinds." She placed herself in front of him. "Wait for daylight. And send for the D.C."

He looked at her.

"All right, that's useless. Then send for your Tin Man cohorts. You mustn't do this alone."

"It's how I work. Alone. Besides, there's no time."

"I could send a_"

Azkedellia was about to offer to send a travel storm for his deputies when she realized the amount of magic needed to produce one would shatter the illusion spell like a dropped egg. She stood unmoving, torn between concealing her true identity and rescuing what might be the first Golden unicorn since Cauldron was foaled.

"Perhaps wards against sleep would counteract the liquid. But I need to know how the traps are formed before I can create a shield…."

Which Lady Agatha, who lacked sufficient magic to neutralize any spells she had not cast herself, could not do.

Cain seemed not to notice her indecisiveness. "We can't wait. If the 'cornlet's still alive it needs its mamma worse than I need back-up. Or wards."

He rose, reached over and righted Hom's chair. "Which of your saddle'corns can best carry my weight on a six-hour ride?"

Azkedellia wanted to kick something. It wasn't enough she was tricked into laboring for hours every day while Agatha dallied with her young lover. It wasn't enough she found herself making passionate love with a man who believed she was someone else. It wasn't enough to be shocked from an exquisitely sound sleep by the most foul odor imaginable. Now Cain wanted to know which unicorn to ride.

_As if I had the faintest idea. Aggie, I could strangle you!_

Hom was right, though, about the 'cornlet being a Golden. Gut instinct told her so. That and those peculiar sensations she'd been experiencing, as if someone were mind-calling her from afar. It wasn't Deegee-she already checked. Not their mother, who was safe with their father at Finaqua. It was more like_

"Hamlet!"

The name exploded in her mind. Despite her earlier statement to Cain, some Keepers could mind-speak with their herdsires. If Hamlet had been trying to contact Agatha, perhaps his thoughts were somehow finding her.

"Your herdsire? That's crazy. It'll take hours for him to get here." And nobody rode herdsires.

"You can ride out to meet him. He may even know where to find the 'cornlet, or the creature Hom saw carry it off."

When Cain didn't move, she gave him her most forceful stare. "Do you have a better idea? Go wake Cassidy. Ask her to fix provisions for you and Hom to eat on the way. I'll cast a summoning spell." She pushed him. "Go on!"

The moment Cain departed Azkedellia began murmuring the incantation. A summoning spell wasn't as powerful as a travel storm, nor as immediate, but worked much the same way. It took far less magic. She could do it_she hoped_without losing the illusion hiding her identity from Cain.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

As Cain collected the items he needed, his mind worked to assemble the puzzle pieces he'd been handed.

First, find the Golden 'cornlet_if Golden it truly was. To prevent any more losses, capture the creature Hom had seen carry it off. A centaur?

It couldn't be something which didn't exist, so it must be something else. Thinking back, Cain was certain he'd seen the creature, too_the black beast hiding in the thornberry bushes on the South Valley floor. While horse-shaped, it manifested no extra arms nor man-shaped head. Shape-shifter, then? Or a Dark Mage using an illusion spell? That possibility meshed with Lady Agatha's assessment of the trap Hom had blundered into.

He understood why a mage might steal a Golden 'cornlet, but what about all the others. Was it eating them? The thought made Cain shudder. If it did use the mundanes for food, how did it subsist when it couldn't capture 'cornlets?

The land pirate raids. The most frequently taken items were bags of grain, followed by glassware, gemstones, and miscellaneous substances from the town apothecary. Probably foodstuffs, too, if his list of stolen goods were more complete. Someone was either practicing a peculiar form of alchemy, or running a bootleg 'still. Although the connection was tenuous, Cain would bet his last platinum capturing the 'creature' would nab the pirate as well.

He hefted the pouch containing the kill-slugs. Even a Dark Mage or shape-shifter gone amok deserved a fair hearing. He would do his best to take the creature alive, but this was an enemy with unknown strengths and unfathomable intent. Without magical back-up, if it was a Dark Mage, he would face a serious overmatch when he caught the thing. Well, T-men were expected to overcome tactical disadvantages_even sorcery. One riot, one Ranger. Taking a deep, resigned breath, he tucked the pouch in an inside vest pocket.

He took a moment to replace his revolver's short snout with the long, auxiliary barrel that Deegee claimed turned his "six shooter" into a "Buntline Special," weapon-of-choice for an Other Side lawman also named Wyatt. Wyatt Earp. He hoped Earp, whoever he was, had never gone up against the likes of a freakin' centaur.

Duffel in hand, he headed downstairs. After a quick stop to collect the victuals Cassidy had packed, he headed for the stable yard. Outside the tack room he pulled up short. There stood the herdsire, busily munching something in a feed bucket.

Cain's distant glimpse from Unicorn's Leap in no way prepared him for the sight of Hamlet this close. He gazed in awe at the snow-white beast. Hamlet lifted his head and stared right back at him with green-flecked, golden eyes. Eyes just like Lady Agatha's, he thought, then wonder swept all thoughts of mere women from his mind.

A throwback to the ancient battle'corns, Hamlet stood a massive eighteen hands high. His horn measured a good sixteen inches. His banner-like tail swept the ground. Few herdsires would tolerate a rider, but someone rode this one. His mane had been roached to prevent long hair whipping his rider's face. At least he didn't have to wonder if Hamlet was saddlebroke.

He held out an apple he'd swiped from the kitchen. Hamlet considered the offering, then gently lifted it from his palm with teeth as white as Cain's own. Apple finished, the herdsire snorted, as if to say "Quit admiring the scenery. Saddle up."

Calling for Hom, he headed for the tack room.

"Where's Hom?" he asked Lady Agatha, who was leading a she'corn toward a nearby stall. "He was in such an all-fired hurry to go, now he's disappeared."

"I haven't seen him since he left the kitchen."

Hamlet accepted the saddle, a simple stock saddle with high pommel and cantle designed to facilitate moving and doctoring milkmares and 'corn herds, with the dignity of a wizard donning a suit of gold brocade and filet lace. But when Cain lifted a bridle with the powerful curb bit used on destrier stallions, Hamlet flattened his ears and raised his head above Cain's reach.

"Hey!"

Lady Agatha hurried from the tack room. She carried a headstall attached to a noseband with no bit whatsoever.

"Use this."

"Not on your life. If that stud takes a notion to jump off a cliff, I need to be able to put on the brakes."

"But he won't let you_"

Ignoring Lady Agatha, he turned back to Hamlet, ready to go to war. Hamlet met his approach with a gentle nudge from the tip of his horn to Cain's breast-bone.

Without another word, Cain handed the bridle to Agatha and took the hackamore.

"Have it your way," he muttered when the hackamore was buckled in place, but he yanked the saddle cinch tight enough to force a surprised grunt from Hamlet.

Uh-oh, Cain thought as he set his foot in the stirrup, I'm gonna regret that.

Cain was at home in a saddle or driving as many as a six-horse hitch. He'd even had some practice putting Great Whites through their "Airs Above" paces. Nevertheless, the ground looked far, far away from Hamlet's broad back. He gathered the reins and clucked softly to start the unicorn moving. Hamlet shifted his weight, but didn't budge.

_What's up with this?_

He was ready to give Hamlet a good boot in the ribs when Lady Agatha emerged from the barn with the she'corn at her side.

"I had to milk her. She was in agony. I just need another minute to get her saddled."

Cain thought she meant to saddle the she'corn for Hom's use. Then her attire registered: long, divided skirt, boots, leather vest over a long-sleeved, high-necked shirtwaist. A straw sunhat perched low over her eyes in a perfect, if mocking, imitation of his own headgear.

"Oh no you don't. You're not coming with me. Where's Hom?"

"Oh yes I do. Just try to stop me. I don't know."

The words were acid on Azkedellia's tongue as she turned on her heel and strode for the tack room. For perhaps the first time since she'd laid eyes on the man, she was in full agreement with Cain. She had no desire whatsoever to climb onto the bony spine of yet another unicorn. She was too weary. Maintaining the illusion spell had drained her. Unaccustomed physical labor over the past days left her aching in bone and muscle.

But Lady Agatha would have been in the saddle and half-way to South Valley by now. Thanks to the compulsion loculus, Azkedellia was going there, too. And for no reason related to the loculus, finding the stolen 'cornlet had become very important. A Golden!

She heard Cain's boots hit the ground as he dismounted and stomped after her.

"You'll just slow us down."

"You'll eat my dust. I'm riding the baby's mother."

She eyed the saddles. She longed to take the side-saddle from its peg, but Cain elbowed past her and grabbed a smaller, lighter version of the saddle on Hamlet, then stalked out to tack up Seafoam.

* * *

Something isn't right, Cain thought as the ground flew past beneath the herdsire's pounding hooves. Hamlet and the she'corn had arrived in the short time it took Cassidy to fill his saddlebags with provisions_long before they should have. And as they galloped, it seemed they covered more distance than was, by the laws of physics, possible in the amount of time he sensed passing.

A summoning spell might have hastened their arrival, but in no way accounted for their swiftness returning to South Valley. What was it Jeb used to say about unicorns warping time?

Cain shook the thought aside. Contemplating woods trolls playing musical chairs with time was disconcerting enough without factoring unicorns into the equation. Speaking of trolls, where had Hom disappeared to_down another of their bolt-holes?

He'd counted on Hom's help searching for the stolen 'cornlet. Now he'd have to rely on the herdsire, and what assistance Lady Agatha could provide. Why didn't she have a better knowledge of her stronghold? Why was she so clumsy working around the stables?

Riding ahead and a little to one side, Lady Agatha looked as comfortable in the saddle as he would riding…Azkedellia's broom.

_When she was younger_, Ambrose had said, _she rode her own racers_.

Not with _that_ seat she didn't, Cain mused, admiring the view even as he disparaged the equitation skills. One misstep or crow-hop and she'd go rump over teakettle. It was as if she were an ill-prepared understudy suddenly forced to assume the leading lady's role. The word 'imposter' briefly came to mind. What if it wasn't the real Lady Agatha at all, but the shape-shifter, hiding in as plain sight as it was possible to hide?

Impossible, Cain told himself. He would have sensed something amiss when they made love. Wouldn't he?

When they reached the narrow defile marking the valley mouth, the suns had scarcely moved from their position when he and Lady Agatha departed the stronghold. By his pocket chronometer, no more than half an hour had passed. The 'corns weren't even breathing hard.

Cain glared at Lady Agatha. "Care to tell me what's going on? Who's playing games with time warps?"

"Not I," Azkedellia snapped.

The time-warp wasn't her doing. She had no magic to spare. No one could have been more surprised than she when both unicorns appeared in the stable yard in scarcely the blink of an eye. If the ride seemed too short to Cain, it felt entirely too long to her saddle-weary derriere. She could have covered the same distance in total comfort on her trusty broom if Aggie hadn't borrowed it. When Aggie got home she'd_

"I don't like this." Cain's voice broke into her thoughts. "Keep your eyes open. We don't want to ride into a trap." He patted the herdsire on the neck. "Hamlet, we're on your turf. Think you can locate the 'cornlet?"

As if understanding Cain's words, Hamlet uttered a low whicker. Azkedellia grabbed desperately for the saddle horn as Seafoam took off like an angry mo-bat.

_This 'cornlet_ better _be a Golden, _she fumed_, or I'm turning someone into Papay bait!_


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Fifteen minutes later, Seafoam's abrupt lunge into an all-but-invisible side-canyon drew a shriek from Lady Agatha, and almost accomplished the ejection Cain had earlier envisioned. Hamlet pivoted no less abruptly, but Cain expected it, his thighs squeezing the herdsire's barrel as it charged after the she'corn.

Ahead, Seafoam galloped headlong, heedless to danger.

"Pull up!" Cain shouted, hauling back on the reins. Hamlet slowed, but halting the frantic she'corn took a stern squealed command from the herdsire.

"What is it?" Agatha asked, tugging her flopping hat into place as Cain reached her side.

"I want to scout ahead on foot. That she'corn's too worried to notice an ambush. Stay here." He dismounted, then lifted Agatha from the saddle. Handing her Hamlet's reins, he pointed an admonishing finger at the herdsire's nose. "You, too."

Ignoring Seafoam's lowered horn, Cain set off up the narrow arroyo.

It was little more than a dry watercourse, carrying run-off only after heavy rains. Tracks pockmarked the soft, sandy floor. Cain's skilled eye picked out bunniebear prints, an assortment of birds' delicate claw marks, rabbit tracks, and what looked suspiciously like mo-bat spoor. None were recent except for destrier-sized hoof marks, which ended abruptly where a second watercourse opened into this one. Someone_or something_had brushed out the back trail.

Cain lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Following the wrong branch would cost time they didn't have, and might lead to traps more ugly than the web that captured Hom.

Behind him, he heard the soft clop of hooves. Hooves trying to be stealthy. Cain eased behind a boulder and waited. Moments later, the herdsire appeared, head held to one side to avoid treading on his dangling reins. Cain stepped out and grabbed them.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to ground-hitch?"

"Ca-a-ain!"

He pivoted. Coming up the arroyo was a wild-eyed Seafoam. Agatha clung to the reins but might have been a twig caught in the she'corn's tail for all Seafoam noticed. Cain stepped into the she'corn's path and caught her bridle.

"Whoa."

She stood, forefeet prancing, tail switching.

Agatha staggered to a nearby boulder and collapsed onto it. "We have to let her go," she said, panting. "Her baby's close. It needs her."

"She'll run straight into one of those traps, or worse."

Agatha stood and returned to Seafoam's side. She began tugging at the cinch buckle. "We'll have to risk it."

"Oh, for_ Here. Let me do that."

The moment Seafoam understood their intent, she stood like a rock. Cain lifted off the saddle, Agatha removed the bridle and gave her a pat. "Go on, girl. Find your baby."

With a clatter of hooves, Seafoam headed up-canyon, choosing without hesitation the fork to the left. Agatha gave Cain a smug look. "Now we follow her."

With Agatha perched high on Hamlet's back and Cain one or two yards in the lead, they followed Seafoam's tracks. With the she'corn so far ahead, he felt certain they wouldn't blunder unwarned into an ambush. Nevertheless, his gaze did not linger on any given point for more than a few seconds. The crevice grew wider and began to carry them upward as they neared the valley's east wall. Sand gave way to sandstone ledges, a giant's staircase, which Hamlet scrambled up with a nimbleness Cain could only envy. Sighing, he forged on.

They were heading toward the caverns he'd spotted on the map. Dammit, he should have followed his hunch and checked them first thing.

They came to a path Cain thought a goat would hesitate to climb, leading to a high, flat plateau. Beyond, several wide dark caves pierced the valley wall. Hamlet stopped and uttered a long, shrill whinny. From deep in one of the caves came an answer laced with fear even Cain could discern.

* * *

Smythe glared at the pen holding the 'cornlets, his prizes, the final ingredient to complete his Elixir of Life. The she'corn, mother of one of the last 'cornlets he'd taken, had leaped the enclosure wall as if it were a bump in the road and gone straight to her bleating baby. Peace and quiet prevailed as the other new-born hesitantly approached and was gently nudged toward the she'corn's second teat.

If the she'corn had found his laboratory, could the herdsire be far behind?

In his present form, Smythe could easily drive off the herdsire. Kill it, if he chose. His strength had intensified with each injection of the Essence of Unicorn. His horn was massive, his hooves iron hard and razor sharp. But in his present form, he could not add the golden horns to the waiting elixir. He had no hands.

The night before, waiting for the Essence to wear off enough to let him finish transforming to bipedal form, he had tinkered with his retorts and crucibles and decanters, making minute adjustments to their temperatures, noting the viscosity of their contents, logging the data in his journals. He could do little more until it was time to inject the concoction. Finally he had placed himself in sleep mode until morning, hoping the time needed for the Essence to dissipate would pass more swiftly if he weren't clip-clopping over the cavern floor.

When he awoke, rather than being bipedal at last, the portion of his body which had been man-like had evolved into a fully unicorn shape.

From the plateau beyond the caverns, he heard the herdsire's inquiring whinny. Behind him, the she'corn answered. He was sufficiently unicorn to understand the gist of their calls:

WHERE ARE YOU?

THE CAVES. HURRY. THE TIK-TOK WILL MURDER OUR YOUNGLINGS.

Tik-tok. Would he _never_ escape that label?

In the blackness of one of the caverns, Cain saw something move. Hamlet lowered his horn to battle-tilt.

The creature emerged with slow, measured strides, its coat swallowing light the way serpents swallow a vole, its color the black of a soul condemned to the farthest corner of the hells. Its massive onyx horn cast sullen sparks of non-light when it tossed its head. It wasn't the creature Cain expected at all.

His fingers touched the pocket where the kill-slugs rested. "Merciful Ozma," he breathed, "a_ black _unicorn."

"There is no such thing."

Cain knew that. He'd almost hoped he did find a centaur, a rational being he could question and learn the reasons for its actions. This creature could speak to none but its own kin. Could only menace others. It advanced a few paces beyond the cave and pawed the ground, sending dust and sand swirling.

"Then what are we looking at, a mirage?"

Or a hologram. The technology that projected a band of land pirates could certainly produce this. As could a shape-shifter or Dark Mage.

Beside him, Hamlet reared and bugled a challenge. Agatha fought to keep from tumbling from the saddle. Cain grabbed for Hamlet's headstall. The herdsire's reflexive horn-thrust missed him by a whisker.

"_He_ thinks it's real. Whoa, dammit!"

"Real enough," Agatha said, "just not a unicorn."

RELEASE ME. I WILL DESTROY THE BLACK ONE.

Agatha, holding her ears and grimacing, gaped at Cain.

"Did you…?" Cain stopped his words. He could not have heard what he thought he'd heard.

Azkedellia scrambled from Hamlet's back. The unspoken words rang painfully in her mind. She'd grown accustomed to a form of mind-speak as the Sorceress, but that was before the Change, and far more subtle. This was like someone shouting in her ear. She stared at Hamlet. The words must have come from him, but how could they? Only Goldenhorns could send their thoughts_

"By the Great Gale! I thought you were too intense for a common herdsire." She had assumed Agatha had worked some kind of enhancement spell, but this was no enhancement. Was it possible Aggie didn't know? Was so deaf mentally Hamlet had to blast his thoughts to make himself heard? "You don't have to shout," she told the unicorn. "I can understand you perfectly."

That's funny, Cain thought. So can I.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Lady Agatha scrutinized the 'corn, then reached for his tail. In a moment, the long, false hair fell away, revealing a leonine form beneath. Hamlet half-reared. Cain hauled on the reins, yanking his head around.

Tearing at the saddle girth, Agatha said, "Let him go, you fool, he's a Golden!"

"Are you out of your_"

"Look at his horn!"

Cain slowly turned his gaze to the herdsire's forehead. Sure enough, the previously mundane ivory horn now gleamed golden in the double sun. He stared, too stunned to move. No Golden had been born since Cauldron, but here one stood, golden horn, leonine tail and all.

Agatha pinched his arm. "Take off his bridle!"

Her sharp tone as much as the pinch jolted him from his bemusement. "We can't let them fight_it might kill him."

"Do you want to try to stop him?"

Ears flat against his head, eyes showing white, Hamlet's full attention was riveted on the Black. His tail switched like an infuriated cat's. One front hoof pawed the ground. Cain felt rage hot as flame radiating from the herdsire.

"Guess not."

He slid the headstall off, then swiftly unbuckled the saddle's flank cinch. The instant the saddle fell free, Hamlet bounded up the trail. Frowning, Cain watched him go.

This wouldn't be pretty. He'd seen stallions fight. There was nothing noble or valiant about it. Nor were these ordinary unicorns. Could even a Golden defeat whatever masqueraded beneath the black beast's hide? Cain touched his revolver. He couldn't let a Golden die.

Hamlet wasted no time with the preliminary strutting and snorting herdsires contesting for she'corns indulged in. The moment all four hooves touched level ground, he lowered his horn and charged.

At the last instant, the Black sidestepped and thrust. Its onyx horn opened a gash in Hamlet's hide from withers to flank.

"No!" Agatha cried.

She started up the trail. Cain snagged her arm. "Stay put. You'll be trampled."

Above them, Hamlet wheeled and took a long, measuring look at his opponent. The Black faced him, pawing the ground. Both creatures charged. Hamlet got under the Black's defense. His teeth ripped a fist-sized chunk of flesh from the Black's neck. Black blood spurted, then slowed to a trickle.

"What in hells _is_ that?"

"I've never seen anything_oh, no!"

Hamlet was down. Dust roiled in a thick cloud, obscuring their view. When it cleared, Hamlet had scrambled to his feet, but a puncture wound between his forelegs dripped crimson. He backed off, shaking his head like a groggy pugilist.

"That thing's too powerful. I'm taking it out."

Cain drew his revolver and sighted. Even with the auxiliary barrel, the shot was a gamble. Holding his breath, he squeezed the trigger. He heard a "spa-a-a-ang!" as the slug ricocheted off rock. The Black squealed and bit at its shoulder where the slug entered.

"You missed!" Agatha sounded appalled.

"I don't miss. The slug passed right through him." And would have dropped a destrier in its tracks. The Black paused, looked around as if assessing this new threat, then launched itself anew at Hamlet.

The 'corns went at each other, biting and gouging. Hamlet pivoted, his powerful hind hooves kicking viciously. The Black's horn parried the kicks as if it were all a game. Then it drove its horn deep into Hamlet's flank. Blood spurted. Hamlet went down on his haunches. He staggered up, only to be knocked sprawling.

"He can't fight it," Cain said. "That damn black's gonna kill him."

"Then do something! Use termination projectiles if you have to!"

He froze, fingers already reaching for the kill-slugs. "Termination_" Only a select few knew about them, and from Ambrose's comments, her ladyship shouldn't be one of them.

"Never mind how I know_do it!"

He opened the cylinder, wiped at the sweat blurring his vision, extracted the spent cartridge by touch. Shoved one kill-slug into the emptied chamber and another into the vacant chamber beside it. Snapped the cylinder into place. Only then did he realize his hand bore no trace of moisture. It wasn't sweat distorting his vision.

_No. No, dammit not now!_

The 'corns were on their hind legs, front hooves flailing. Bloody gouges and scrapes marred Hamlet's dust-muddied hide. Their angry squeals echoed in the canyon like a steam calliope gone berserk. Cain aimed, trying for a safe shot as the 'corns slammed into each other. The world went gray around him.

"No! Gods damn it!"

"What's wrong?"

Cain rubbed desperately at his eyes. The gray haze receded enough to let him see Hamlet on the ground, the Black savaging him with hooves and horn. They were too close for anything but the most precisely placed bullet.

"Get up, Hamlet! Get away from him!"

"Cain, shoot!"

He didn't dare. If his vision blurred again, he might hit the wrong unicorn.

But Lady Agatha possessed some magic, enough to control fireflies and fireplace flames. To cast summoning spells and apport bunniebear rugs. Maybe enough to place the kill-slug where it needed to go.

"You have to help me," he said. "I have to send the slug straight into the Black and make sure it explodes inside him. If it passes through, or hits Hamlet_"

She didn't move. "I...can't."

"By the Great Gale, Agatha, I can't do this alone. I'm_" He stopped, choking on the words. Tried again. "I'm going blind."

"But that can't be. How_"

"Never mind how, just help me before that damn thing kills Hamlet."

Another time, directing the bullet would take but a snap of mental fingers. But Azkedellia's magic was all but depleted. Guiding the bullet would consume the last of it. She would have to nullify the illusion spell. She no longer cared. Saving Hamlet was all that counted. She would deal with the consequences after the Black was defeated.

She moved behind Cain to hide the transformation, slipped her hand inside his collar, and felt for the pulse in his carotid artery.

"Tell me as you pull the trigger."

When her fingers touched his neck, Cain felt an electrical tingle sizzle through him that set every sexual nerve in his body on high alert. Ignoring it as best he could, he aimed at the melee on the plateau, now a hazy roil of dust and his own dimming vision. His finger tightened.

"Now."

The force of her mental _push_ to the fired round flashed through Cain like a massive jolt of testosterone. He went hot, he went cold, he went rigid. The world around him went black. An instant later, light returned, but the scare had extinguished his arousal as swiftly as a plunge into icewater.

Behind him, Lady Agatha gasped. Her hand jerked away from his neck. She must have gotten a blow-back taste of her own magic, Cain thought, and couldn't help a faint grin.

Above them, nothing moved. Dust was settling. Straining to see, Cain reached behind him and captured Agatha's hand.

"Come on."

At the top of the trail, they found the black creature on the ground, writhing as the kill-slug's poisons took effect. Hamlet stood a few feet off, head hanging, flanks heaving. He watched the Black as he would a rabid papay.

The creature's flesh was losing cohesion. Rotting. The stench of decomposing Trueflesh filled the air.

A wisp of vapor rising from the body was their only warning. Hamlet staggered backward, Cain reeled as the creature exploded into a shower of sticky black blobs.

The blobs oozed and humped toward each other. When they touched, they merged, until several small rivulets formed a viscous black pool surrounding an ancient clockwork substructure. The liquefied Trueflesh gradually reassembled itself into a man-shaped body. The leg and arm appendages twitched and shuddered. Facial feature began taking shape.

"Smythe!" Cain took a step toward the reforming butler-bot. "I _knew_ something was funny about him."

"Is he…it…still…alive?"

The words came from behind Cain, but it wasn't Lady Agatha's voice.

Cain's head snapped around. "_Azkedellia?_" Was the damned tumor producing hallucinations, too? "By the seven rings, what are _you_ doing here? Where's Lady Agatha?"

She ignored his questions. "Trueflesh. It's been altered somehow. It's supposed to self-heal small injuries, not regenerate. We've got to destroy it, Cain."

"If a kill-slug doesn't finish it, I'm not sure we can. I've never seen anything hit with one not just…die."

They turned at the sound of hoof beats. Hamlet approached the butler-bot, ears flat, teeth bared. He pointed his horn at the creature's chest.

"What's he doing? He's not going to…to _heal_ it?" Cain asked, incredulous.

"I don't think so. Look at his horn."

It was the color of lead.

Cain and Azkedellia looked away as Hamlet's horn drove deep into whatever passed for the black creature's heart.

Skirting the black ooze slowly vaporizing in the glow of the double sun, Azkedellia started toward Hamlet. Cain's hand shot out, snagging her wrist.

"Just one moment_your highness."

She gave him a who, me? look.

"What are you doing here pretending to be Lady Agatha?" She saw his suddenly horrified expression as he blurted, "How long have you been impersonating her?"

She gave him the tiniest of smiles. "Long enough…. Oh, don't look like that. No one will ever know. I promise."

At that moment, Cain's world slowly grayed away.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"Cain?" Azkedellia's voice. "I think you better sit. There's a boulder about three steps to your left.

He felt Azkedellia's arm link with his. It shamed him to accept help. _Get used to it, Cain. It's going to be dark the rest of your days._

At least now he understood why Lady Agatha seemed so familiar. Of all the despicable tricks to play, this took the prize. He'd said he'd die a happy man if only he were allowed to make love to Azkedellia beforehand. Now he guessed that wasn't quite as true as he'd believed.

Hamlet was a Golden! He'd _ridden_ a Golden! For a moment, the thrill of it pierced the gloom of his fate like a beam of light. Wouldn't Jeb be fit to be tied?

When 'Dellia stopped, he did, too. Pressure on his shoulder indicated he should sit. Her clothing rustled as she knelt beside him. He tried to picture what she was wearing. He couldn't.

"Tell me what caused this," Azkedellia said. "Why haven't you seen a Healer?"

Wearily he recited the short version. As he spoke, a plan began to form. He had the second kill-slug. The pistol was back in its holster. The long barrel was awkward, but would do the job.

He would send Lady Ag_make that Azkedellia_back to the stronghold for help. Then finish things, here and now. This place wasn't exactly where he would have chosen to end his life, but it wasn't bad. His ghost, if _it_ could see, would have a majestic view.

"So you're giving up?" Azkedellia sounded so much like the Sorceress it gave Cain chills. "The man who endured eight years of torture is giving up," she snapped her fingers, "just like that?"

Cain grimaced. "What do you suggest, that I learn to tat?"

"You truly are a fool. One of the most powerful healers in the OZ is standing directly in front of you."

"You know that's a myth."

"Not five minutes ago, you thought he was going to heal the butler-bot."

"I was afraid he was going to try. Besides, a Master Healer told me the tumor is incurable."

"Bah! What do furballs know?"

Azkedellia held out her hand to the unicorn. "Hamlet?"

He came to her, skirting the last of the vaporizing ooze. He looked as battered and bedraggled as ever she'd seen a unicorn look. Thank the Great Gale the Witch had failed in her quest to exterminate them. When Hamlet reached her, he drew himself up, a haggard but unvanquished knight approaching his queen. His horn once again gleamed gold in the setting suns.

"Can you help him?"

Before Hamlet could reply, a familiar voice rang out from the caverns above the plateau. "Hey, you guys! I found Bess. And look what else I found!"

A small avalanche of snow white 'cornlets poured from the caverns, frisking and prancing as they got their first good look at the outside world. The patter of tiny hooves sounded like a hailstorm.

"It's Hom! And he's got the 'cornlets!"

"How many?" Cain asked. "It sounds like dozens of them."

Azkedellia laughed. "Wait 'til you see. There's more than a score_and all Goldens! Oh, you darlings, you're beautiful!"

Minutes later, the 'cornlets, the milkmares, and Seafoam with Hom seated proudly on her back, joined the others on the plateau.

"Seen the big fight," Hom said. "Thought ol' Hamlet was a gonner_" The Munchkin raised both hands, palms out, as Hamlet's horn came around. "No offence! And to think, he's been a Golden all along. So, did ya find that thing with the extra arms?"

"It's gone," Azkedellia said. "The black unicorn was a robot that could shape-shift. He was Aunt Agatha's butler-bot. He was probably the centaur, too."

"I never did trust that sneaky_hey! Wait a minute! You're not Lady Agatha! Who are you? What are you doing wearing her clothes?"

"Oh, we borrow each other's clothes all the time. I'm her niece, 'Dellia. Hasn't she ever spoken of me?"

"Not to me, she hasn't. But I'd know those eyes anywhere. You gotta be kin."

The cosmetic lenses, Azkedellia thought, grateful to go unrecognized.

"Where's she at, anyhow? I've gotta tell her we found the 'cornlets. And there's some kind of laboratory in one of those caves. I don't know what that butler-bot was brewing, but it sure ain't sippin' whisky. Hey, what's wrong with the gink?"

"Gink?"

Cain stood. "He means me. Hom, I need you to make sure…'Dellia returns to the stronghold safely. I'll be along after I've tied up a few loose ends here. Had a look at those caves."

He glared at Azkedellia, silently warning her not to say one word about his affliction.

"Mr. Cain took a fall. He's feeling a little dizzy. Hamlet was going to make certain he's able to travel. Weren't you, Hamlet?"

I DO NOT LIKE AN OVERTIGHT SADDLE CINCH.

"I'm sure Mr. Cain will never pull it too tight again. Will you, Mr. Cain."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

VERY WELL. I'LL NEED YOUR HELP YOUR GRACE, AND THE LITTLE ONES'.

Amid the soft clop of large hooves came the patter and dance of tiny ones, the whuffle of many breaths as the 'cornlets encircled Cain. Azkedellia's hand settled on his skull. Something hard prodded his temple.

REMAIN VERY STILL.

Cain didn't move a muscle.

The probe felt unlike anything he'd ever endured. Not precisely painful, it was akin to the pins-and-needles sensation when an arm or leg 'went to sleep'. It was like an electric flame had ignited deep in his brain, sparking and fizzing. Although he never felt the tumor, as one might the swelling from a blow or the raised bump of a wen, he felt it start to vaporize much as the butler-bot had.

Just kill me and get it over with, Cain thought, picturing himself slumped in a chair, drooling. Soiling himself.

OPEN YOUR EYES.

He couldn't make himself do it.

_Whump!_ The side of Hamlet's head propelled him backward off the boulder. 'Cornlets scattered. Cain hit the ground with a grunt and saw stars when his head smacked a rock.

Saw stars.

_Saw stars!_

His eyes sprang open. He peered up into a sea of gold-green eyes and tiny golden nubs. A moment later, 'Dellia's and Hom's smiling faces floated above him.

"Well?" Azkedellia asked.

"Damn," Cain breathed, if you all aren't a sight for sore eyes."

THE END

* * *

EPILOG

A few weeks later Cain returned to Unicorn's Leap, bringing Ambrose along. Together they examined the caves where Smythe had built his laboratory.

Rummaging among the various texts and tomes, Ambrose discovered a journal. It confirmed many suppositions they had made and added much information they had not even guessed at.

"Look at this," Ambrose said, pointing. "When he needed something for his lab, he'd shape-shift and go steal it. Then he stole a TDESPHTL_my new, portable TDESPHTLs!_and used it to project the land pirates while he pilfered the things he needed. Of all the nerve!"

"How'd he manage that? I thought butlers were always on call. He was never away from the stronghold when I was there."

Ambrose flipped pages until he found the answer.

"When Radcliff purchased a butler-bot, Smythe intercepted it and took its place. He could mimic it so perfectly, he could leave for days at a time and no one noticed. He locked the genuine butler-bot in an unused pantry when it wasn't needed.

"Huh. It's probably still there," Cain said, recalling the oddly obsequious Smythe he'd encountered from time to time.

"And then Radcliff discovered the duplication," Ambrose said, his voice slowing and dropping almost to a whisper. "Apparently shape-shifting left Smythe dull-witted and lethargic for a short interval. During one of those times he failed to get the genuine butler-bot out of sight. Radcliff blundered onto the two of them and_ Oh, my word, Smythe choked him unconscious and smothered him!"

"Great Gale," Cain muttered. A robot gone rogue was more dangerous than the most evil Dark Mage.

Ambrose read for a time, then said, "We always thought something wasn't entirely straight-forward about Radcliff's death. Some even suspected Aunt Agatha caused it. Oh, not on purpose, you understand. But she was much younger than he, and well, sometimes older husbands try too hard to…um, satisfy an eager young wife. But no one ever guessed the butler did it."

For Cain, the saddest part was discovering the corpses of the mundane 'cornlets, slaughtered and dumped down a crevice like so much garbage. Using chemicals from Smythe's laboratory, Ambrose created a volatile liquid that, flung against a solid surface, produced a tremendous explosion. With it, they destroyed the lab and sealed the caves.

Hamlet revealed to Cain that only Goldenhorns of a very great age produced Golden offspring. Having contributed generously to the gene pool, he disappeared from Unicorn's Leap and was never seen in the vicinity again.

Cain continued to worship his princesses from afar and oversee their security. No one paid much attention when Aunt Agatha began making regular visits to Castle Gail, nor to the amount of time Cain spent in her company.

"Although," Ambrose once remarked to Raw with a sly wink, "it seems rather peculiar that Azkedellia is never in residence when these visits occur."

Raw merely looked wise and kept his own council. While Deegee seemed to recall Aunt Agatha hated the sweet cider she now regularly sipped, she left unspoken any suspicions she might entertain. She was growing up.

From his mountain stronghold, Jeb wrote that the five Golden orphans he was fostering were growing like weeds. And he would one day be a Keeper. "Believe it or not, I've inherited the ability to sense the little Goldens' thoughts_probably from Mother. She always had a way with animals." Cain didn't bother to correct him. He'd kept his new-found ability to communicate with unicorns a secret.

And, Jeb went on to say, he was becoming seriously interested in Lady Agatha Radcliff, doyenne of Unicorn's Leap. She might be a little older, but they had so many things in common….

Cain smiled to himself, burned that particular letter, and led his own 'Lady Agatha' off to find a large, soft, bunniebear rug.


End file.
